Like Father, Like Son
by Blazing Firefox
Summary: It had started with one man's bid to aid his friend. So surely, it only made sense that it would end with his son's bid to free the continent.
1. Prologue: In Flames

If you were to ask me where this came from, honestly, I couldn't tell you. And that is for the simple reason that it's been brewing for just as long as any idea I've ever had. I first played Seisen no Keifu three years ago and played through it's entirety in a matter of a day, with crackish pairings and a fun play and all (whoever said predestined pairings are best for a first play were clearly speaking to the strategically inept). And ever since I've been thinking, 'How much fun would it be to write a fic for this?' Really, Seisen no Keifu arguably has more written potential than any other fic, because of the fact that the chapters are simply so long. Save for the dialogue between chapters and the in-game conversations, there is plenty of open-endedness to insert whatever it is you wish to insert. Development for characters, romance, drama... it's a gaping hole in the game that all but screams Feed Me. So feed I shall.

Anyway, no I do not own **Fire Emblem** or anything _pertaining_ to it. That goes to **Intelligent Systems**, **Nintendo**... whoever you feel like noting.

Rating is for rather graphic violence (about as graphic as I ever get, really) and somewhat adult situations. And of course, for the necessity of an open mind, because really, you shouldn't read this if you don't have one. Don't say I didn't give you fair warning.

* * *

While the flames began to surround him, draining him of every breath and of every ounce of life within him, scorching his soul as much as his body, he began to think. There were many things to think about, unfortunately, and very little time with which to think of them. For soon he would be dead, that much he knew. Not even the reflexive defense against magic that the sword in his hand – his family's holy blade, the fabled Tyrfing – provided was enough to fend off the impending demise he would soon suffer from the flames. But that was okay, now. His son was being whisked off to a better, more peaceful place. He had finally returned to his homeland, albeit as a traitor to it's name and a prisoner of false accusations. And most importantly he had found his wife at long last, even if she was found bearing the ring and the child of another man.

Ah, Deirdre... it was a pity she knew not how her frightful stare rended his heart in two. How the way she was almost too eager to get away from him hurt him as much as parting with his only son, knowing he had condemned his son to a harsh childhood and a questionable future, had. How, even as she reluctantly parted with him, appearing as though she had the faintest idea of who he was, she had given him such hope that it was quickly forgotten that he was facing his executioner. Yes, Sigurd the Traitor thought of all these things in his last moments. As the scorching heat of the sacred Falaflame began to consume him, it was all he could do.

In his final moments, he recalled what drew him to this tragic moment.

* * *

He was but twenty-three when the neighbouring kingdom of Verdane sought to conquer Grandbell. Grandbell's army, save for very few, had proceeded northeast under the command of His Highness Prince Kurth to subdue Isaac. The nearby fief of Jungby had fallen under attack by the vanguard of Verdane's comparatively massive army, and requests had immediately been sent to both Chalphy – the fief under the rulership of Sigurd himself – and Edda, the nearby fief under the rulership his Lord Ring and his son Sir Claude. Sigurd had ignored all protests from his advisors and his knights, selflessly riding into battle for the sake of his friend, Lady Aideen of Jungby.

Through feats of heroism and valiant swordplay displayed both by himself, his men, and the reinforements acquired from the northern fiefs of Dozel and Velthomer, as well as the reinforcements supplied by Prince Cuan and his wife – Sigurd's sister – Lady Ethlin from the distant kingdom of Lenster, Jungby castle had swiftly fallen to the resisting Grandbell forces. Sigurd had valiantly pressed his luck at that moment, pushing his way onward toward the border castle at Evans, which would later serve to be his base for many days.

At Evans, Sigurd easily did away with all of Verdane's troops, conquering the castle in but half a day. What had begun as a desparate defense to save Grandbell had turned into a battle of conquest, in which Sigurd had taken it upon himself to subdue Verdane. But he did not fight for those reasons; in fact, conquest was far from his mind. Even as he was promoted to the esteemed rank of Holy Knight, he fought solely to see his friend Lady Aideen restored to his side.

* * *

The Spirit Forest, deep in Verdane territory, had been a quandary of sorts to Sigurd and his troops. The Prince of Verdane, Lord Jamka had fought to the last against them there, ultimately surrendering when Aideen had reminded him of the tyrranical state his kingdom had fallen into. Bolstered more than ever, Sigurd had been all the more motivated to see Verdane subdued for it's crimes. He remembered that this had been the first time when killing had come without remorse to him. He had been able to kill men before, perhaps easily by some accounts, but this had been the first time where he had done so without any regard for the life he had taken.

It was also here that his life changed irrevocably. At the time it had seemed like a blessing ten-fold that he should meet the Lady Deirdre, and it had been. She would go on to become his faithful wife and the person dearest to him, the mother of his son and an invaluable aid in key battles to come. She had been there no matter what he would ask of her, and the only time she ever refused his word had been when it had been asked of her that she not join him on the battlefield. Truly, her only crime had been caring too much. That care would also be the catalyst of their eventual fall from grace.

And a small part of him knew this from the moment he met her. Ever since he had met with the people of Marpha and heard of who she was, he had known. She was not an ordinary village beauty he should have been sweeping off their feet and into some gallant tale of love and valor. No, that simply shouldn't have been the case with Deirdre, and he had known. But he was a fool hopelessly in love, and like so many others before him knew, love drove someone to increasingly stupid things. Which is how, when the war had ended and Grandbell had unified the corner of Jugdral in which Verdane rested and Holy Knight Sigurd and his band of warriors had returned to their station at Evans, he took the woman who should never have left the forest to be his wife.

Never had he made a bigger mistake.

* * *

It was when he fought in desparate battle against King Shagaal of Agustria when Sigurd first bore witness to the true extent of the power granted to him by his lineage as a descendant of the Crusader Baldo. He had been locked in a battle like no other he had fought before, parrying blows left and right with reflexes that had jarred his arms more times than he could count. He had discarded his faithful steed in favor of facing off against the King in the corridors of Agusty castle, forced to wield his blade with both hands in order to maintain the sense of control he'd grown used to having when fighting on horseback, as he typically did.

"You are nothing more than a dog! A scoundrel! Now die!" Shagaal had cried, just before swinging with a might so terrible it had taken Sigurd by surprise, forcing him against the jagged stone wall of the castle's interior, cutting his back in several places. His sword had been chipped ever so slightly near the tip from blocking, but that had been the least of his worries at the time. No, at the time all he could think about was Deirdre. How she was five months pregnant and waiting for him just outside the castle, expecting to see an exhausted but otherwise unharmed hero emerging from the depths of hell, holding the head of a tyrranical King high above his head and grinning that stupid grin Sigurd couldn't help but put on in the presence of his darling wife.

That thought had brought out a strength most surprising within him. The palm of his right hand had suddenly shone a fierce blue and the crest of House Chalphy had engraved itself upon his flesh. The voice of a man clearly many years Sigurd's senior had called out to him in his mind, telling him he had the blessings of the great Crusader Baldo and that it was not yet his time to die. Fueled by those words, he had been imbued with a power that terrified him to the core. Shagaal had been defeated moments later, unfortunately fleeing through a secret passageway in the castle's depths and escaping impending death. But all Sigurd paid attention to was how he had been given a power like no other, one that gave undeniable proof of his lineage.

* * *

The six months spent watching over Agusty castle had been both sheer torture and a thousand blessings upon Sigurd.

Deirdre had given birth to a fine son and the heir to House Chalphy, whom had been named after Sigurd's grandfather, Celice. The young child had shown great promise even at only a couple month's of life and it was recognized almost immediately, either by this prodigal nature or simply by his appearance, that he would grow to be the splitting image of his heroic father. There was not a single person that gazed upon the boy and failed to see their great commander in the son's eyes. The shining blue hair that Celice had inherited from his father could draw eyes from entire rooms away, and the shimmering smile the boy always wore, despite being devoid of teeth, was enough to make Sigurd's heart warm.

Also on the positive side of things was the time spent with Eltshan, Holy Knight of Agustria and Sigurd's dear friend. Like in the past, many nights had been spent over a bit of alcohol and fond times between them and Cuan, reliving past days when such activities were commonplace. Momentarily was it forgotten that Eltshan was the commander of Agustria's fabled Cross Knights and that Sigurd was the commander of the small renegade division of Grandbell's army responsible for conquering Verdane and half of Agustria. Though serious almost to a fault, Eltshan found no quarrel with grinning like a fool and telling fond tales of his wife and his year old son, Aless, who seemed to be as much like Eltshan as Celice was like Sigurd.

The negative side of things was just as strong, however. Tension between Sigurd and Eltshan had continued to build steadily with every failed attempt to get permission for Grandbell to pull out of Agustria. 'Maintaining a presence,' huh? Bah! All the nobles cared about was the land Sigurd had painstakingly stolen from Agustria in his bid to aid Lachesis. It seemed that Sigurd's great propriety for aiding his friends – typically women, though their status as such had nothing to do with it – had been the catalyst of many a misfortune in his life, Sigurd had realized at that moment. Between Aideen, Lachesis and Deirdre, Sigurd's grave was being dug.

* * *

When Silvail castle fell to Sigurd and his ever growing band of troops, it was a hollow victory. Though cheers wrang high through the air, praising Sigurd for his monumentous victory over the Cross Knights and for being the one to rid King Shagaal of his head, Sigurd was hardly in a festive mood. The death of Eltshan, who had died trying to convince King Shagaal to take peaceful measures in settling the conflict with Grandbell, weighed heavily upon him. Weighing just as heavily upon him was the sudden disappearance of Deirdre, leaving him without a wife and Celice without a mother. Sigurd had cradled Celice tightly to his breast then, listening to the soft coos of his blissfully unsuspecting child like they were the beautiful singing Deirdre had often used to sooth him. Perhaps it was a trait Celice got from his mother, to be so soothing without even trying.

And Sigurd, for the first time since the death of his mother, had cried himself to sleep last night. He had refused to put Celice to bed that night, instead sleeping with the baby pressed tightly to him. And the baby seemed perfectly happy with this, poking and rubbing at Sigurd's chest like it was the most interesting thing in the world until finally the young boy had fallen into a happy sleep. Through it all Sigurd had cried, wondering not for the first time why his life had to be as tragic as it was. And waking up the next morning to the sight of his son's bright eyes looking up at him happily was the last time Sigurd had ever smiled a true smile.

* * *

The death of Fury's sister, Mahnya, in the skies over Silesia castle was what finally made the realization that he had gone numb dawn upon Sigurd. That night, when he heard Fury weeping for her sister and Levin weeping for her loss, finding comfort in one another not for the first time, Sigurd simply had not found it within him to shed a tear. Try as he might, he had been unable to make himself care more than the slightest bit. The only care he had was that it had caused them pain; the actual loss of Mahnya and subsequently Silesia's pegasus forces simply hadn't bothered Sigurd. Beyond that, all he'd cared for was the safety of the queen, whom had been as much his mother as she was Levin's.

And then, when finally the civil war had seen it's conclusion and Sigurd saw the vast plains of Grandbell before him, the nostalgia he felt was simply born of his desire to see his foes within the kingdom dead. He had not cared to return to Chalphy anymore, he had not cared to see their fighting end; no, all he cared about was seeing Duke Langbart and Prime Minister Reptor dead. The fact that it would bring an end to the fighting, while being an initial goal for him, had become little more than an accepted eventuality to Sigurd. Contrary to his initial goals, he cared for little more than seeing the traitors to his name dead, and seeing Deirdre back at his side once more. For this, he recognized the inevitability in his possible death through the ensuing conflict.

* * *

Sigurd hadn't smiled upon being reunited with his father, Lord Byron, though he suspected this to be on account of the fact that his father was sporting a gaping sword wound in his lower abdomen. His father's labored breathing and pale skin told Sigurd of the inevitability of his father's impending death, but that hadn't stopped Sigurd from daring to hope. He'd rushed to his father's side, mending the wound however possible in a state of near-hysteria. All his father had done at that point was laugh, place his weak hand over that of his son's, and shake his head sadly.

"No, son," he had said, eternally calm to the last. "It is too late for I. But take this blade," he had held up the shattered blade in his right hand, which Sigurd only then recognized to be his father's holy Tyrfing. His voice had failed him then, and immediately before breathing his last breath Byron had forced the Tyrfing into Sigurd's hands, collapsing to the ground and dying. And Sigurd had wept, albeit silently, the entire way back to Zaxon, where he had hoped to get the Tyrfing repaired. And the moment it had been repaired, the crest on the palm of his hand shone with a constant light, beckoning people to his side and daring his foes to flee. Much in the same way Levin's had shone a bright green the moment the sacred tome Holsety had been pushed into his hands, or how Eltshan's palm glowed a fearsome blood red as he swung the Mistoltin. It was a mark of their lineage, and of the terrible might that lineage granted them.

It had been with that sacred blade in hand, granting him an ironically magical immunity to magic and vastly hightened senses, that he pressed on toward Lubeck. Soldiers from then on had fallen like flies to his new strength, amplified as it was by the strength of the Tyrfing and the natural strength his lineage had recently presented him with. And Duke Langbart had fallen almost too swiftly, even with his frighteningly mighty defenses. Sigurd the Traitor had almost single-handedly seen to the army's triumphant return to Grandbell soil, where the only thing standing between them and the capital at Barhara was the terrible Yied Desert, the desert in which the Twelve Crusaders from whom those with holy lineage drew their strength had come to be, through the Miracle at Darna Fortress.

And later, when Sigurd took it upon himself to end things, he had felt an odd comfort. "The desert is too dangerous," he had said, by way of explanation, when he had been confronted about this decision. Which in all honesty he knew he would have been, for there was no way the plan of he and Levin going across the Yied Desert alone with support from Fury would be accepted as a good idea. And it wasn't. But he had enforced it at the time, in one of the rare moments in which he truly used his status to make the group do things that they would otherwise have rathered not do, and it had been thusly decided that he would be going across the desert alone with Levin, each aided by the respective holy weapon their lineage – from the Crusaders Baldo and Holsety, respectively – granted them.

* * *

Indeed, it had all amounted to a rather bittersweet four years. From his promotion to Holy Knight at twenty-three to his triumphant return to Grandbell at twenty-seven, going from a carefree slob to a calm and collected man, Sigurd could say he had honestly, truly lived. True it was that few of his memories were happy, but he had enough happy ones to be satisfied, at least. As at long last the flames of the Crusader Fala consumed him and Alvis' manic laughter wrang through the air, uncaring of the fact that his own brother had been amongst Sigurd's executed soldiers, Sigurd smiled the last genuine smile he would ever smile.

"Perish, Sigurd the Traitor!" Alvis laughed admist cackles, joined in sickening unison by the Roten Ritter fire mages that surrounded the condemned group of rebel soldiers. "Perish for your crimes to His Majesty King Azmur! Falaflame!" And there life threw him one final surprise, shocking him with the searing agony of another blast of the terrible flames. He could not cry out though, for his voice had already failed him. That smile remained to the last, even as he felt his skin being torn away by the flames and through Alvis saying in a hushed whisper meant for his ears only, "Your death will change Jugdral forever." And that was because, really, that thought was not one he dared have on his mind as he died.

_'Farewell, Deirdre... Celice, be strong.'_

And then, in the third month of the 761st year of the Gran Calendar, Sigurd the Traitor and his rebels, all parents to children of their own who were surely orphaned now, perished into the flames of Alvis' ambition. And that same year, King Azmur would die of his long-lasting illness and Alvis would become the first Emperor of Grandbell. And over the decade and a half following the death of Sigurd the Traitor, who would later go on to be known by many as Sigurd the Hero, the Grandbell Empire went from a blessing to the continent of Jugdral that brought peace wherever it went to a tyrranical Empire ruled by despotism and cruelty unlike anything that had been seen prior to the Empire's rise. And it would be that fact that would bring about many rebel groups striving to overthrow the Empire, one led by the Prince of Light...

* * *

Well... yeah. I've always loved Seisen no Keifu (as my constant references to it in other works may suggest) and I've longed to write a Seisen no Keifu fic for some time, so that's essentially what this is. If you want to be technical, it's also another project in my ever growing pile of incomplete works. Which I don't really count anyway, since I have several others I've simply made no mention of and keep to myself. But the ones I do post here take priority, and this is another one with priority to worry about. By all graces it won't be all that long, though, spanning the second half of the game and a little bit afterwards. In addition to fewer chapters than what is usually seen of me, the chapters themselves will be shorter in the grand scheme of things as well, though not nearly as short as this one was – this is merely a prologue so I don't walk into the story itself expecting everyone to have knowledge of everything that had happened prior to the story's beginning. I badger enough people for that very same problem as it is.

And pairings? None save for Celicex??? (I know who ??? is; I'm simply not saying. Not to be mistaken with me not knowing), because this fic will follow in the same general style as Gundam Seed: Redemption in that it will be solely from Celice's POV (but not first person; even if I were any good at writing from first person, rarely can I stand it). On the topic of pairings, however, the past pairings (as in the First Gen pairings) follow relatively canon tendencies (or what I see as my own canon): SigurdxDeirdre, CuanxEthlin, AideenxJamka, AryaxHolyn, LachesisxBeowulf/Fin (Delmud being Beowulf's son and Nanna being Fin's daughter, respectively), SylviaxClaude, TiltyuxAzel, and BrigidxDeu. Feel like questioning the canon-ness of some of these pairings? Go for it, because I did say they were my canon. And really, Deu being Patty's father just works.

So drop a bone, tell me what you think, or... whatever. I'm not expecting a whole lot given the lack of love Seisen no Keifu has gotten here, but getting a little bit of love always keeps a guy going, right? Right.


	2. Chapter One: The Prince of Light

Alright, here is where the story actually begins. So here is where I shall also note a few things that should be known in passing. One of which is relatively simple; nothing, and I mean nothing, that was expressed in the game itself will be any different here. Nothing AU here at all, save perhaps for anything beyond the game itself I include and my interpretation of certain game elements (most things pertaining to holy blood are good examples of this). Also, it should be noted that you won't find a whole lot of dialogue similar with the game, simply because I can't remember a lot of the actual dialogue and I'm not replaying the game to find out. I remember the entire plot as well as just about every important element independant of the main plot (much of Thracia 776 included, though seldom will that information be applicable), so it will come across the same way in the end regardless.

As for the chapters themselves, as I said, I won't be making them nearly as long as what my more recent work has been – though since my most recent work has been averaging between 15-20,000 words, that doesn't mean a whole lot. I expect most chapters to range around what was to be expected of _Timeless Imprisonment_ all in all, and each chapter will cover roughly half of one of the game's chapters, more or less. This is not an absolute rule, and things will drag on a tiny bit with what's going on between individual battles and the like, but as a generalization this is what can be expected.

So, again, I do not own **Fire Emblem**. It is owned by either **Intelligent Systems** or **Nintendo**. Good. I do, however, own the very sickeningly twisted mind that thought going through with certain things in this story (you'll know when you see them) was a good idea.

At nineteen, there were a great many things that defined Celice Baldos Chalphy. He was the Prince of Light to the people of Isaac, the great-grandson of the late King Azmur and son to the Empress Deirdre, making him the eldest heir to the throne of the Grandbell Empire in all but official title. He was the prodigious son of Sigurd the Hero and he who had inherited everything his father had been, from the shimmering blue hair to the crest of Chalphy on his palm, all the way down to the regal sword adorned with silver and other jewels that he held in his hand, granted to his father upon his promotion to the esteemed rank of Holy Knight twenty-one years ago. But most of all, above all the titles and inheritences he had simply by birthright, he was a beacon of hope.

This, above all else, is what made him loved by all. It was not any fancy title or the exploits of his father that drew people to him like moths to a flame, though such a fact could not be wholly discounted in his popularity. It was not simply for being a noble of the highest order, albeit unofficially, or for being the son of the people's last true hope that had made women sigh after him whenever he should be seen in the streets of Tilnanogue. Rather, it was his utter selflessness toward the people, his unknowingly charming smile and the many other tiny things he did simply because he felt he had to that had made him so loved. When the people of Isaac had so kindly taken him in as one of their own and promised his safety while asking nothing in return, it had become his duty to aid them however possible.

These small deeds ranged greatly in variety and in greatness, but never was any one act made with more care than another; Celice donated fairly and selflessly to all who he deemed needing of his generosity, oftentimes going out of his way to do so. In Tilnanogue, people were seldom poor, for Celice would often sacrifice what he could of his own money – which had been lacking to begin with – to make sure they were well off. Whenever there was a robery or some other evil taking place, Celice always took it upon himself to right the wrong, whether that meant catching the thief or simply donating money out of his own pocket to replace what had been lost.

It was scarcely believed, then, that he could truly be the elder half-brother of the Crown Prince of the Grandbell Empire, the terrible Prince of Darkness who struck terror into the hearts of the commoners and nobility alike with but his name alone, Prince Julius. While Celice gave and gave whenever it was required of him, treating the woes of the people as his own, Julius took children off the streets and sacrificed them in increasingly cruel rituals. The Grandbell Empire's intial prosperity had crumbled before the cruelty of Prince Julius, who in just a few short years had destroyed and molded the entire empire into his own utopia. Where once the empire had been as Celice now was, treating the people to a life better than what could have previously been dreamed of, it now stripped them of all hope, leaving just the shimmering light of Celice Baldos Chalphy in it's wake.

Indeed, it could be said that the Prince of Light was every bit a beacon of hope as the people claimed him to be, though he would never outwardly admit so. Exaggerating his own worthiness, regardless of the truth behind such exaggerations, was often what bred bigotry in the best of men. Humble though he may be, bigotry was simply not an acceptable future for one whom the people drew such hope from. In the troubled times that were to come, he knew he'd have to be of iron will and every bit as selfless as he'd been to this point. Corruption was an inevitable aspect of what was to come, he was sure, but keeping sight of what truly mattered was what would be his most important goal. If not for himself than for his father, who had met an unfortunate end in trying to do the right thing. No, Jugdral could hardly afford a repeat of the Tragedy at Barhara.

"Your movements are too sloppy!" Lakche cried in fond admonishment, laughing softly even as she easily weaved around Celice's sword and swung with her own, the rapier-like point at it's tip narrowly missing his shoulder. Celice ducked and rolled as the sword came in for another attempt at drawing blood, blue hair flying in all directions while he brought his arms up with a speed that belied his relatively narrow frame, swords clashing just above his head. Using the pressure as leverage he slowly lowered himself closer to the ground, rolling once again as Lakche's swing was forced to continue, and by that point he had already reached his feet and the tip of his sword was pointed toward the back of her neck.

"... Or not?" Celice replied jauntilly, grinning as Lakche slowly raised her arms in surrender, clearly loathing the movement. "My sword isn't suited for the fluid movements you use, but it's usefulness is in it's balanced weight and powerful edge," he went on to explain, examining the sword that had been his father's weapon of choice for no less than three years before it had been passed on to Celice when Shanan had fled with him to Isaac. It had been of great importance to his father and, in lieu of the Tyrfing, it held the same place in Celice's heart as well.

"You explain that every time you win in our sparring matches, Prince," Lakche responded dryly, glaring at him as she crossed the room to return her weapon to it's place amongst the many other swords adorning the northern wall of the large chamber. "Which, by the way, this was only your ninth victory. And as I recall, I have won eleven."

"And as I recall," Celice said mirthfully, moving toward the opposite side of the room to return his own sword to it's place, "you and Skasaha have been training for three years longer than I have. Which, I may remind you, is completely the fault of you two and your uncle. I'm not a baby anymore, you know?"

Lakche's hardened glare softened immediately and she smiled a little crookedly, looking far too apologetic for Celice's comfort. "I know that, Prince," she said with some reluctance. "But I am as much a swordsman – swordswoman – as we need. And I am already the splitting image of my mother as a fighter, or so Shanan says, and Skasaha is every bit my equal as well. Forgive me for my bluntness, but we all thought you would be safest kept from fighting for as long as possible."

"So I have heard from Shanan more than once," Celice quipped bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest while he absently blew at a rebel strand of hair that simply refused to leave his face alone. Before long, he gave up the battle. "But what would I do then, Lakche? When it all comes down to it, I will need to be able to fight as well. And time for me to train is running short, as it is for us all."

Lakche smirked ferally, a look that Shanan had frequently said made her look all too like her mother had in the midst of stalking her prey. It had been a look that had struck fear into the hearts of many, but Celice had long since grown immune to the threat behind that hungry stare. "I never said we were wise in that decision, Prince. But you know how Shanan can be with us sometimes; he looks at us as his children, and he cares about us all dearly. You especially."

"He is as much your father as he is your cousin, Lakche," Celice shot back with fond amusement, striding forward slowly but puposefully. "As he is to us all. If he holds me in any special regard, it is simply as the Prince of Light or as the son of Sigurd the Hero. It is not a personal matter."

As Lakche opened her mouth to respond Celice swiftly brought up a hand to silence her, ears perking up and listening for a far off sound. It was faint, but he could hear somebody's panicked cries echoing through the hallways of the small fortress that had been made residence for the ragtag bunch who had boldly cast their lot with him and Prince Shanan. Lakche looked from the arched entranceway to Celice and then back again several times before tentatively saying, "Do you think Skasaha found another snake?"

Skasaha, with his midlength black hair looking far too disheveled for anyone's liking, chose that moment to charge headlong into the room, nearly knocking over Lakche in his race toward Celice. "Not a snake, Prince! Empire troops! They are on there way here!"

"Already?!" Lakche gasped, not quite looking composed as she angrilly opened and closed her fist several times. "We knew they were on to us, but to have found this place so fast... How many are there?"

"I didn't stay long enough to find out," Skasaha responded reasonably, fingering at the hilt of the sword strapped to his right hip, aching to be drawn. He flexed his fingers a few times in an attempt to stave off the burning desire to simply draw his sword and rush to his death in 'the true Isaacian way,' as Shanan would have coldly put it. "The troops I did see – just their vanguard, I imagine – numbered about twenty. But from what the people are saying, there are reinforcements on their way from Rivough as well."

"That settles it," Celice said authoratively, grabbing his sword from it's place on the wall. It, in addition to a much smaller sword with a green-colored hilt and a thin blade that seemed capable of little more than a swift thrust lest it should break otherwise, were both strapped to his right and left hips respectively. "We have to go, now. If we can get to Ganeishire before they get here, we will at least have a chance."

Silence followed his declaration, tense and suffocating. Lakche and Skasaha exchanged a worried glance or two, and then a third, before sighing and staring hard at Celice, making him feel more than ever like prey to two exceptionally hungry wolves. Finally they said as one, voices thick with a skepticism that instantly made Celice aware of their reluctance to permit his being on the battlefield, "Are you sure?"

"The people of Isaac have given us so much," Celice sighed, fingering the hilts of both swords idly to a miscellaneous beat. "If the Empire's troops find this place, the people here will be punished for protecting us. We cannot allow that."

"But Oifaye isn't back yet!" Lakche protested with a desperation that certainly hadn't come solely from her worry of being shorthanded. "What can we do on our own, Prince?"

Celice crossed the room mutely, tearing Lakche's sword from the wall and throwing it unceremoniously in her direction, his boots resounded loudly off the stone tiles all the way. "Much of their troops are from the Duchy of Dozel, meaning many of them specialize in the use of axes. The brigands and thieves in the countryside are no different. If nothing else, we can make a stand using smart tactics and playing on their weakneses."

"We cannot convince you otherwise," Skasaha said dejectedly, "can we, Your Highness?"

"I am not a child anymore, Skasaha!" Celice cried in fierce exasperation. He started pacing from one side of the room to the other, back and forth until he was no longer sure which side of the room was which. "I am just as ready as any of us are. Perhaps we aren't quite ready, but can the people afford to suffer for it? We have to march now, ready or not. I have to, as well. I will not allow myself to be treated like a child by you guys, Shanan, or the people anymore!"

Celice slowly edged his sword out from the space between two armor plates in which it was lodged, idly wiping away the blood on his face with his free hand. His sword arm ached terribly from the exertion it had been condemned to over the past half hour, an amount of movement and jarring unlike any he had experienced before. Relatively tame sparring matches with Skasaha or Lakche couldn't compare in intensity to the heat of an actual battle, pivoting and swinging every half second, for you would be dead the next second if you did not.

But the strategy had worked. The small thickets and clusters of trees surrounding Tilnanogue had provided adequite cover for the tiny group of swordsmen, ultimately giving them the chance they had needed to methodically take out their foes as they came. The additional aid of Lana healing them when necessary had made the entire battle much easier, especially with how badly overwhelmed they were. That is, until Ganeishire's main force arrived.

"Lord Celice, are you okay?!" Lana cried, rushing to his side while he continued to wipe at the blood on his face. His arms were shaking visibly and his face was white as a ghost, even he felt that, but otherwise he was unharmed. The tiny cut in his shoulder, received when he'd misjudged the strength of an axe swing and his sword was tossed aside on a block, was not bleeding, and none of the blood covering his light mail was his own. His legs felt like unstable planks beneath his feet, threatening to crumble beneath him on a moment's notice and send him crashing to the ground.

"I'm fine, Lana," Celice grunted lightly, swinging his sword several times to rid it of the blood that hadn't already dried itself to the shimmering blade. He ignored the startled gasp that escaped from Lana's throat as he swiftly lunged forward, thrustng his sword out in perfect time with an axe swing from yet another knight. With a violent shove he forced the knight's arm back, using the opening presented to maneuver around to his right side and slash at the knight's exposed underarm. He ducked and swerved to the side, easily dodging the slow axe swings the knight was forced to resorting to, impeded both by the heavy weight of the weapon itself and the bulky armor covering his likely otherwise frail body. As he brought his arm up for one final swing Celice quickly moved forward and thrusted his sword upward, impaling the knight's left arm helplessly on the tip of his sword.

"'Yield or die,' is what you want to say, am I right?" The knight laughed harshly as he twirled his wrist so that the blade of his axe was facing his face. "The esteemed knights of the Great King Dannan's forces know not surrender, boy. Victory or defeat are our only options." Before Celice could utter a single word he had brought his axe down, savagely cleaving his head in two. Celice managed to get enough distance between himself and the collapsing body to avoid being covered in the erratic spray of blood, but the sight alone was enough to make his stomach churn unpleasantly and threaten to empty itself. Lana seemed to be suffering a similar reaction, sputtering and gaggeing audibly behind him with far less grace than one would expect of a woman with as much grace as Lana typically displayed in everyday life.

"This is what has become of the Empire?" Lana asked shakily, approaching Celice slowly. His own shaking had ceased, masked behind a carefully forged will Shanan had forced upon him from the moment he'd begun training. Had she been able to see beneath it, Lana may have been able to see Celice's growing desire to shed tears for the fallen knights all around him. Every one of them had showed the same self-sacrificing determination this one had, glaring at him with every bit of their hatred until the moment life left their bodies, and even then hatred had often been visible in their eternally unchanging features. Not one had shown the fear Celice himself felt everytime an axe was swung at him.

Celice turned to Lana as she reached him, nodding grimly while trying – and failing, he suspected – to look as comforting as possible. "I had hoped that you wouldn't have to see these kinds of things, Lana. Truly I did." Lana shook her head and opened her mouth to say something that was surely intended to be appologetic or reprimanding but he denied her the chance, saying softly, "You really are like Aideen, though. But don't forget we are here for you, okay?" Whatever apology Lana had been planning to say died on her lips then, and she nodded slowly.

"I found him! I found the Imposter Prince!" In one swift motion Celice pulled Lana tightly to his back and pressed both of them against a tree, protecting his backside as best he could while watching five axemen advance on them, surrounding both and trapping them quite effectively. All were dressed the same, with torn clothes that would have made Celice think they were brigands were it not for the crest of the Dozel dukedom engraved in the fabric over their hearts. Axes with excessive amounts of rust were slung over their shoulders and held carelessly with one hand, making Celice feel much like prey hanging helplessly in the jaw of his predator. Not even an hour into his first battle, and already he was to meet his end?

Of the group, one – a rather bulky man with long, tangled black hair and a scar running suspiciously along his jawline, so red that Celice almost thought he was bleeding profusely – strode forward with a purpose that was augmented by the ferocious smirk gracing his ragged face with it's presence. "Imposter Prince Celice Baldos Chalphy," he drawled, removing his axe from his shoulder and swinging it back and forth in front of him several times. "You need not know my name, I promise you. Any final words, _Prince_?"

"Only that it isn't time to die, not yet," a voice, notably not Celice's, said. The unnamed axeman hardly had time to turn his head before Delmud's sword came down upon him, beheading him. While the other four gaped at their decapitated leader Delmud turned toward Celice, smiling softly while raising an eyebrow almost to his hairline. "I see we are late, Your Highness. Shall I lend a hand?"

"It would be appreciated," Celice laughed lightly, pushing away from the tree and bringing his sword to rest at his side. "Is Oifaye back as well?"

"Lester as well." Without even turning his head Delmud swung his sword, cutting deeply into the chest of another axeman as he approached. The axeman staggered momentarily before, with what appeared to be some reluctance from the scattered remnants of life in him, collapsed to the ground. "They are helping Lakche and Skasaha right now. I would be as well, because we thought you were with them as well, but I saw you cornered here and, well..."

"You have my thanks, Delmud."

Delmud nodded, blushing faintly out of pure embarrassment and scratching the back of his neck. "I could not leave you to fight on your own, of course, Your Highness."

Celice shook his head almost mournfully while he ducked under an axe, pivoting on his heel and driving his sword through the chest of the offending axeman. He quickly shifted so that the body was his shield, watching with faint interest as another axe embedded itself in the corpse. He removed his sword from the corpse's chest and left it to fall against the other axeman, turning and bringing up his sword just as another axeman's heavy footsteps made themselves known behind him. Before he could even prepare himself for the impact of a large axe against his blade, Delmud had reached his side again and had taken it upon himself to kill the axeman with but a single stab of his sword into his shoulder. As Celice turned around once again the final axeman was working his way out from beneath his corpse-prison, trying desperately to throw his late comrade aside. Celice walked forward with slow, deliberate steps that immediately drew his attention away from escaping. "Celice Baldos Chalphy, son of Light Empress Deirdre and Sigurd the Hero. Rest in peace." And then he winced, closing his eyes tightly and driving his sword downward into the axeman's face. The crushing sound of bones beneath his blade resounded loudly in his ears all the while.

"Your Highness, shall we go now?" Delmud asked, idly sheathing his sword at his side and dismounting from his tall mare. As though it were perfectly natural of him, he took to inspecting Celice's body for any wounds while Celice cleaned himself off with the same dirtied handkerchief, painted red with the blood of those who's lives he had taken. "Sir Oifaye is waiting for us, I am sure."

Celice ignored his question entirely, turning toward Lana and pointing into the distance, looking as authoritive as he could possibly manage. "Go find Oifaye, and tell him to rendevouz at the Ganeishire Mountain Pass. It's too late for us to turn back now."

Lana nodded slowly before raising her head sharply, eyes wide and mouth hanging open most unelegantly. "The mountain pass? But that is where they would be waiting for us! How would we possibly..."

"General Harold won't be anticipating us making an offensive against him," Celice cut her off quickly, raising a hand afterward to silence her. "There will only be patrols, if that much. It is when we have reached the other side that we must be careful, as I am sure the General will be sending his troops to intercept us once we have been spotted by his patrols."

"What about me, Your Highness?" Delmud asked.

Celice walked forward and drew Delmud's sword from it's sheath, handing it up to him with a warm smile gracing his gentle features. "You will be coming with me, Delmud. They will take the north mountain pass while we take the south." He reached into a pocket concealed within the royal clothing beneath his mail, pulling out a small piece of parchment that he unfolded to reveal a large map of the entirety of the small country. Holding it with one hand, he used the other to point to various points on the map. "we will draw their axemen toward us and draw them into the narrow pathways of the mountain pass to eliminate them. Oifaye will come around and take out their knights, then assist us by attacking the axemen from behind."

As dusk momentarily replaced the seemingly perpetual darkness of Jugdral, the tiny group that made up Isaac's self-proclaimed Liberation Army set up camp along the beach that extended for miles beyond the mountain passes that separated the mining city of Ganeishire from the small outpost town of Tilnanogue. Tents were pitched, fires were made and water was gathered from the nearby sea. The day's frivoloties had left all weary both of mind and body, eager for a night's rest before the fight that awaited them on the morrow. General Harold, King Dannan's right arm and close confidant awaited them less than a mile away, with fortified defenses and ample supplies. The daunting task of taking Ganeishire was to be their first true test both as an army and as warriors, but all were eager to confront the challenge head on.

All except Celice, of course. Celice paced worriedly through the encampment under the guise of overseeing the setting up of tents and the gathering of firewood from the nearby forest, chewing at his lower lip and frequently running his hand through his hair, lost in thought. Had they acted too soon? That morning, he wouldn't have given a second thought to the question. But now, he wasn't completely sure. Though his strategy had proven it's worth in the end, there were several wounded as a result and it was only through Oifaye's seniority as a warrior that they had avoided a series of very premature deaths in the mountain passes of Ganeishire. That being said, how could he hope them to be able to overcome the strong defenses at Ganeishire on the morrow, especially when it was a task so daunting that few of the most talented warriors Jugdral knew dared face it?

"Tomorrow," he muttered, running his hand through his hair one final time for good measure. "Tomorrow we find out if it is enough."

"Does something trouble you, Your Highness?"

Celice jumped, whirling around to face the speaker, heart racing and muscles fidgeting. "A-ah, Oifaye. Don't scare me like that."

"My apologies." Oifaye strode away several paces, seating himself upon a broken log. Once he had seated himself he patted a knee, urging Celice forward. "Sit."

Celice laughed nervously, looking from the muscular, waiting leg to the elderly man the leg belonged to. "I have not done that since I was a child, Oifaye."

Oifaye gave Celice a nonplussed glare that held for all of half a second before it broke into a tender half-smile. "After tonight, you will be my commander and my Lord, not my charge, Your Highness. If anything, tonight is the perfect night to cling one last time to such a childish thing, no?"

Celice laughed again, this time more out of exasperation than out of the lingering nervousness in the pit of his stomach. But despite his nerves he nodded, walking forward and sitting down on Oifaye's leg. Oifaye grunted lightly beneath him, moving his leg several times in an effort to lessen the weight threatening to crush it. After a moment of trying in vain he gave up, laughing along with Celice. "Perhaps a tradition such as this should be short-lived, Your Highness."

"Perhaps so, Oifaye." The two fell into a comfortable silence, both watching Skasaha run by with a massive pile of expertly chopped firewood, only to trip over his own feet and land face first into his own pile of wood. He caught sight of the two watching him and blushed furiously, rushing to pick up all the wood and head toward the center of the campsite where a small fire had already been lit. "... Hey, Oifaye?"

"Mmm?" Oifaye rumbled in acknowledgment.

"Have you ever had a dream that felt almost like a prophecy?"

Oifaye looked over Celice's shoulder at the young Prince's face, frowning. "I cannot say I have. Why do you ask?"

"Last night, I had such a dream." Celice said nothing for a moment, waiting to see if Oifaye had anything to say in response. When Oifaye said nothing, Celice continued, "I was facing off against Julius at Barhara, Tyrfing in hand. I had never looked so focused before. But every attack I threw was deflected away from Julius, almost as though he had an invisible shield protecting him..."

"I am not surprised that he would have some sort of foul power such as that, having been raised by Manfloy as he was," Oifaye grunted disdainfully, shaking his head. "Continue."

Celice nodded absently, hanging his head. "In the end, it was as though I was doomed. No matter what I did, he always thwarted me – I was completely helpless. But right before he could deal the final blow, I was saved. I could not see who it was that saved me; all I saw was a blinding flash of light and a golden dragon rise toward the heavens themselves. When I could see everything around me again, Julius lay dead on the ground before me."

"A golden dragon?" Oifaye asked, half out of surprise and half out of disbelief. Celice identified both in the man's voice. "To some, the appearance of a golden dragon can be a sign of good fortune, or of salvation. It is not a widely believed piece of folklore, but there are some who claim that when Saint Heim became one of the Twelve Crusaders at Darna Fortress, a golden dragon descended from the sky and became one with him. Most believe this to be a story to expand upon Saint Heim's superiority over the other Crusaders, however."

"I will not think on it overmuch, Oifaye," Celice sighed, moving to stand once again. "Be this merely a dream of a prophecy of some divine sort, it is not wise to give it more thought than I already have. What the future holds will occur regardless, so I must instead worry on what is to come." He grinned suddenly, fingering the hilt of his sword fondly. "You would say something like that, would you not?"

Oifaye laughed loudly in response. "Aye, Your Highness, I would." His laughter stopped abruptly and he stared hard at Celice, watching the Prince grow swiftly nervous under his calculating gaze. "You know the importance of tomorrow's battle, do you not? How much is at stake?"

"The stakes are no greater than they were today," Celice said with a wave of the hand. "But yes, I know the importance of the battle to come. Not only is it imperative that we are victorious for the sake of Isaac, but we must also see if my decision to abandon our solitude was the right decision."

"So you are aware, then, that we must be wholly prepared? The enemy waits for us, in greater number and with a great advantage." At Celice's nod Oifaye smiled again, nodding in kind. "Have you given any thought to a strategy?"

"I have." Celice waved a hand from side to side, urging Oifaye from his seat on the small stump. He kneeled at the stump as Oifaye stood, spreading out a map of the castle's interior. "It wasn't easy, but the people at Tilnanogue gave me this before I left."

"Even with Ganeishire under wartime lockdown?" Oifaye asked bluntly, momentarily shocked.

Celice nodded. "It was not easy, I imagine. Several posed as traders from the homeland with a fresh supply of grains. Nearly got caught, too."

"It is simply a testament of their dependance upon us."

"Indeed," Celice sighed, shaking his head. "For all their sacrifice, we especially cannot afford to lose. The people of Tilnanogue will undoubtedly be put to death for granting us asylum."

"So you understand the gravity of the situation," Oifaye grunted fondly, moving to one knee beside the Prince. "What is this plan of your's?"

"Delmud already disguised himself and hid amongst a contingent of Empire troops moving in to reinforce Ganeishire, where he will work with the people to open the gates for us from the inside." Celice pointed toward the south gate on the map then, sighing sadly. "That is where things will grow difficult. Even with the people on the inside revolting and us attacking head on, we need to get inside before they can amass their forces and hold us back at the gates. If we do not, not only we will be wiped out, but so will the people aiding Delmud. If we can get in, however, we can work with the people and take out the Empire's troops in the streets. In both cases, our priority is taking out General Harold and protecting the people."

"That is quite the plan, Your Highness," Oifaye said fondly, though Celice could tell only years of soldier-influenced indifference stopped him from showing any more emotion than that. "But what ought we do if the people do not aid us?"

"They will," Celice said dismissively, "because when our friends from Tilnanogue infiltrated they arranged it all for us." Celice folded up the map and put it away, standing and beginning to pace anew. "Though if it could be helped, I would much rather they not lend us your aid."

"I know you are adverse to risking the lives of the people, Your Highness," Oifaye stood as well, immobilizing Celice with one hand a running the other through the boy's hair. "But you must know that, under the Empire's rule, their lives are at risk no matter what we do. And if their aid liberates Ganeishire, than you have saved far more lives than you have risked."

"I know that what you say is true, Oifaye." He lifted his eyes to meet Oifaye's, his blue eyes shimmering with yet-unshed tears. "Is it wrong to still be so reluctant? To feel guilt at the very notion of people's lives being at risk because of me?"

"It is human," Oifaye said, casually avoiding an actual explanation as far as Celice was concerned. "But you must take care that you do not allow your compassion to get in the way of what needs doing. The greater good will not come without some sacrifice."

"So I have been made aware," Celice grunted, casting his eyes to the ground. "I want to be able to protect everyone, though. My friends, what family I have left, the people... the thought of losing any of them makes me ill."

"Honored though I am that you consider me to be your family, Your Highness," Oifaye shot back testilly; Celice beamed. "I must remind you that your duty lies in leading us all, not protecting us all. Achieving success without losing us is a sign of a wise and skilled commander, but never should our safety be your priority. Even in the case of the people, saving them from the Empire should come before saving them from danger. The greater good, remember?"

Celice frowned defiantly. Why did Oifaye have to be the sensible sort? It would be so much easier on his heart if he could simply disillusion himself into believing the people's safety was the first priority. But alas, he knew it was but foolish deception to believe so. Even so, hearing it so bluntly put as Oifaye had – the man clearly hadn't thought princely manners to be of the greatest import when trying to keep many young children both fit and alive – stung like a needle's prick. Finally, partaking in the better part of valor, he said, "Very well. We shall coordinate with the civilians to see General Harold defeated. Preferably without any extensive harm to the city of the castle, as it is to be our home afterwards."

"Your Highness, will this truly work?" Lester asked uncertainly, for what seemed to be the eighth time by Celice's count. The two stood at the head of their tiny group of seven fighters – one of which, Lester's sister Lana, was a healer – before the gates to Ganeishire. There were no sentry greeting them with magic or flights of arrows but the bustle on the other side, presumably of soldiers moving to and fro in last minute preparation for a siege, was highly audible.

"Yes, Lester, it will work," Celice sighed in response, also for the eighth time that morning. "Now, do you remember what you have to do?"

"Rendevouz with Delmud and protect the people – and not tell Oifaye you gave me such an order." He grinned, "Good thing Sir Oifaye was sent to the northern village to warn the people, hmm, Your Highness?"

"He was the most suited for the task," Celice shrugged casually, crossing his arms over his chest in an impatient gesture. "Besides, he would have realized the moment you acted what you were up to. But I can't let the people risk their lives for our sake."

Before Lester could say a word in response – likely something along the lines of, "Yes, Your Highness, I know," with the same sarcastic tone he had used on Lester, if with slightly more respectful words – the large gates creaked loudly and slowly opened, revealing a smiling Delmud and a small group of armed civilians, all wearing basic chain mails or light suits of armor that offered necessary protection without any encumbering weight. "General Harold is at the castle, watching over the city from the front entranceway. The Empire troops are divided into four along all of the major roads, but we have already spotted all of them. If we attack from here and loop around to the east at the same time, we will be able to pincer them."

"Good work," Celice laughed, slightly exasperated that Delmud had been so thorough. He turned back to regard the rest of his 'troops' with a grin and an overly childish overhead wave. "Delmud and I are going for the commander! Everyone else, work with the civilians and follow Delmud's suggestion! Lakche is in charge until Oifaye returns!" He ran forward, leaping into the air as Delmud pushed himself a little further into his horse saddle, allowing Celice to land softly behind him. "Do you know a route we can take without being spotted?"

Delmud said nothing, glancing back at Celice with an expression so reprimanding – almost to the point of being disrespectfully so, Celice thought wryly, considering who it was her was looking at like that – that Celice knew better than to question him further. Instead he entertained himself by drawing his sword and swinging it about, ensuring it didn't feel strange in his hand right before an important duel. Which was why Delmud was there to begin with – for backup – but the stubbornly manly pride within Celice refused to consider the possibility of having to hand the fight to Delmud for any reason.

"The castle is in the center of town," Delmud explained without looking back, eyes trained on the path he was carving with his horse. "The part of the city north of the castle are shops – armories, vendors, blacksmiths and the like. The south side is for the people. All the homes are going to be in the middle of our battleground."

"But if we kill General Harold," Celice responded, frowning despite himself, "the battle will end. We must make haste."

The castle looming in the distance was every bit as magnificent as one could expect of the Grandbell Empire. Towers that seemed to reach the heavens, outer and inner walls lined with arbalests and other siege defense weaponry and many other luxuries that would not have been seen anywhere but at the capital Barhara seventeen years ago. Like nothing he had seen before, that terrifyingly luxurious castle was a painful reminder of the change that had come with Duke Velthomer's rise to First Emperor of the Grandbell Empire. It however, unlike many other things that were symbolic of Emperor Alvis' reign, was a positive depiction of the change Alvis had wrought. And though he loathed to admit it, Celice admired the change that Alvis had made. It was the concequences and later actions made during his reign that ultimately made him deserving of Jugdral's unified hatred.

When finally the base and entranceway of the castle were within sight, Celice leaped backwards off of Delmud's horse and brought his sword up to eye level, muttering an Isaacian prayer for victory and for the safe passage to the afterlife for his foe, one that Shanan had taught him long ago. "Hide somewhere!" he called to Delmud, who nodded and made for the wall surrounding the castle courtyard, in which stood a knight dressed in armor twice as thick as any Celice had seen thus far. It was painted an obsidian black, and engraved in the chest was the emblem of the Grandbell Empire – a symbol depicting a horseman with a spear ready to thrust, a bow in the background pointing in one direction while a sword overlapped it and pointed in the direction opposite – while over the heart was the crest of the Velthomer dukedom. He had an axe made of the most refined steel Celice had ever seen slung over his shoulder and held with one hand, and on his back the tips of a bow could be seen.

"General Harold," Celice called as he approached, drawing his attention away from whatever there was in the sky that required his utmost attention. "Commander-in-Chief of the Grandbell Empire's Dozel Faction, aide to King Dannan and Prefect of Ganeishire. A pleasure."

Harold observed Celice for a moment before nodding; Celice didn't need to be able to see his face to know Harold was not sporting a cocky, probably condescending, grin. "Celice Baldos Chalphy, Imposter Prince, son of Sigurd the Traitor and self-proclaimed son of the Light Empress Deirdre. I wish I could say the same, but you have given us no small amount of trouble. I shall enjoy killing you."

Celice glared with all the hatred and all the anger he could reasonably muster as he pointed his sword at Harold, shaking his head in what could have been best described as a condescendingly pitying manner. "You have slain innocents for 'sport', you have sent children off to be sacrificed in the Child Hunts, and worst of all, you used to be an Isaacian General! For your crimes toward your charge, the people of Jugdral, I, Celice Baldos Chalphy, sentence you to death."

No more words were spoken. With one, unified cry that wrang through the air and silenced everything from the blades clashing behind them in the city to the birds chirping happily above, they ran at eachother with weapons poised to strike. Harold swung down with a speed that caught Celice off guard, forcing him to dig in his heels and bring up his sword just in time to catch the axe above his head. A battle to overpower one another physically began, eaching pushing at the other with everything they had. Harold had a natural advantage in the strength his axe boasted, whereas Celice drew his strength from a carefully balanced position and carefully using his strength when he could. While he was hardly getting any closer to overpowering Harold, he had situated himself in such a way that Harold was unable to overpower him.

"You," Harold gasped out between gulps of air, disdainfully and with a hint of what could have been surprise, "are not as weak as you look, Imposter Prince. I can see how you made it this far."

Celice grunted, pushing back until his muscles screamed in protest when Harold tried yet again to overpower him. "So there are some in the Empire with a shred of honor. I am surprised that the likes of you knows what the word means."

"Honor defines me, Imposter," Harold laughed, his voice broken and raspy as he continued to take in large gulps of air regularly. "What you see as terrible acts, I see as orders from His Majesty that must be prioritized over death. If he orders it, so shall I do it."

Finally Celice broke the achingly painful deadlock, dropping low and rolling to avoid the follow-through of Harold's swing. When he sprung up he had safely made his way to Harold's right side, where he quickly took a step back and pointed his sword to Harold's throat. "Your honor is misplaced. Yield or die."

Rather than doing either, Harold swung with a blinding speed that took Celice by surprise yet again, forcing his sword from his hand, sending it flying to embed itself in the ground some distance away. He was able to draw his other, smaller sword just in time to avoid a fatal second axe swing, but the sheer strength of the swing against the much smaller sword jarred his arm terribly and only carefully formed willpower kept him from screaming out in pain.

"There is no such thing as misplaced honor," Harold grunted, but he sounded far angrier than Celice felt comfortable with. He shiverred slightly, though he was glad that Harold didn't notice. "His Majesty gives me an order, and I carry it out. I care not if I am asked to pull flowers from his royal garden in Rivough or if I am to gather children in the town square and decapitate them one by one. It is His Majesty's duty to care, while I simply do his bidding. Understand?"

Celice pulled away and took several steps back, idly glancing in the direction of his sword to judge the distance between it and himself. Not far at all, he determined after a moment. He kept one eye on his sword and one eye on Harold, circling him in a manner that made it look as though he were simply watching his foe intently. When Harold charged again he quickly rolled to the side, grabbing his sword in mid-roll and blindly swinging horizontally as he spun his body back around again. Harold cried out as both swords, one after the other, dug into his thigh, nearly knocking him over with the sheer force of the attack. When Harold moved in for the counterattack Celice moved with a speed and grace that could only have come from the training bestowed upon him by Shanan, weaving around the axe swings with ease and poking his sword at Harold when an opening presented itself. He was dismayed to find that all of his attempts were thwarted by the thick armor with far too few weaknesses but kept it up all the same, never staying in one place long enough for Harold to get close to landing a solid hit, even with his exceptionally fast – as far as knights went – movement.

"Alright, enough!" Harold cried suddenly. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed Celice's arm so swiftly he jerked, nearly tripping over himself as his legs tried to acclimate to the sudden lack of movement. "His Majesty King Dannan has charged me with the capture and execution or elimination of the Imposter Prince and his band of treasonous children, and I refuse to die before I have carried out his final order!"

Before Celice could grow fully aware of what was happening he had been tossed to the ground, one leg pinned under Harold's heavy foot. Celice winced as he saw Harold grip his axe with both hands and raise it over his head. He shut his eyes tightly, resigning himself to waiting for the axe to come down upon him. "Sorry, everyone," he muttered under his breath, shutting his eyes tighter in his shame. "We were too soon, I suppose. We were not ready to do this, whether we needed to or not. Just... live."

"Done making your peace, Imposter Prince?" Harold grunted, shifting the foot crushing Celice's leg ever so slightly, simply for his discomfort, Celice guessed. If the searing pain that was caused by that simple movement was to be any indication, though, it was safe to say that his guess was a rather accurate one.

"Well, Celice?" Another voice questioned gruffly, followed by an additional pair of boots – and not Delmud's – entering his peripheral vision. He recognized the voice clearly, and felt quite the fool for being unable to put a name or a face to the voice. What kind of Prince was he if he couldn't even remember those around him? "Have you made your peace," the voice – Celice felt foolish for referring to it in such a manner, as well – continued, "or will you fight? Will you roll over and die, or will you strive to finish what your father started?"

Celice didn't need to hear anymore. While he was distracted – probably trying to figure out who it was standing in front of him – Celice grabbed ahold of Harold's leg and tore it away from him, leaping to his feet and taking a ready stance. During the brief few seconds in which Harold was staggering back Celice chanced a glance to the side, gaping at the tall man with long green hair standing there, holding a finger to his lips. Celice nodded and turned back to Harold, dodging axe swings in rapid succession while swinging methodically at the gaping holes beneath the arms and between where the chestplate ended and the helmet began. It was hard aiming for both, but finally, Celice managed to land a solid thrust into Harold's throat.

"Misplaced though it was, you, General Harold, are a man of honor." Celice withdrew his sword, watching Harold stagger backwards for many steps and then collapse against the castle wall. "I will not ask you to surrender or to lay down your arms, but I will ask that you die in peace."

"... In peace?" Harold gasped, laughing harshly and shakily. "Why would you wish that upon your foe?"

Celice smiled crookedly and sheathed his sword. "You were an Isaacian General, Harold, so you should know the way of the Isaacian warriors. Not even our enemies are beyond the reach of our compassion, and you fought well. From one Isaacian to another, I thank you for this battle."

"Levin!"

The festivities in celebration of Ganeishire's liberation were proceeding apace. A large festival had been swiftly organized by the citizenry in the city marketplace, with song and dance and other festivities Celice and his friends, all being nobility themselves, had been deprived of. Lakche and Skasaha were putting on a display of swordsmanship, engaging one another in a sparring mach that looked far too heated to be simply for the purpose of entertainment. Delmud and Lester were debating over something or another equally as heatedly – Celice had heard the words bow and sword come up a number of times and, them being a swordsman and archer respectively, he had a good idea what the two were debating about – at a small round table near the fountain that occupied the center of the marketplace, with a construct of the Crusader Odo standing atop a small platform amidst the water and spouting water from where his hands met the sword he was holding. Lana had retired early that night, exhausted as she was from the day's activities. Celice had immediately felt guilty for getting so many people hurt, which had inadvertently made her task of healing them that much more difficult.

More than anything, Celice was surprised – and slightly dismayed – to learn that almost the entirety of Ganeishire's civilian population had taken up arms in the battle that had taken place in the streets that day. Of those thousands of armed civilians, no less than one hundred of them had enlisted through Oifaye. People whom he had once depended upon for survival were now his own militia troops, and that, among other things, terrified Celice. Things had been stressful enough when he'd had to worry for the lives of six people under his command. But what was he supposed to do now, with one hundred other people to protect? Perhaps Oifaye was right, after all, he thought in defeat.

"Hey, Celice," Levin greeted lightly, ruffling his hair with one hand while moving the other to remove several strands of rebelliously long green hair from his brow. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"Too long," Celice said softly. He waited all of two seconds for Levin to back away, but when he did not Celice stepped forward and embraced him tightly. "Where have you been?"

"... Around," Levin replied evasively, shrugging his shoulders in what Celice assumed was a nonchalant manner. "When I heard you had made your move, however, I rushed to see how you were doing."

Celice frowned in thought for a moment, tilting his head to the side in a decisively childlike way. "How did word spread so fast? We only left Tilnanogue two days ago."

"Word of the Prince of Light's movements spread fast," Levin replied cheekily, despite sounding deathly serious the entire time. "Especially amongst the magi. You hadn't even reached the mountain pass before hermits were spreading word from one another all across Jugdral."

"I'm that famous..." Celice shook his head rapidly, dismissing that train of thought. Thinking about such matters hardly quelled his nerves. Slowly he disentangled himself from Levin, frowning again when he noticed the sack slung over the man's shoulder, presumably holding any belongings he took with him in his travels. "Are you not here to stay?"

"Not just yet, no," Levin looked over his shoulder for a moment and then nodded to himself. "There are a few things I need to check on. I imagine I will be finished with them by the time you have liberated Rivough."

Celice nodded absently. "Tomorrow we will be heading south. There is a Blagi church south of here that we can use for protection, especially if Prince Johalva will take the offensive like I think he will."

Levin laughed solemnly, and wordlessly reached into the sack over his shoulder and pulled out a small pouch that he forced into Celice's hands. "Take this with you."

Raising an eyebrow, Celice looked into the pouch before reeling back, holding the pouch away from him as though it were poisonous. "I cannot accept this, Levin! It's too much!"

"Do not mistake my kindness, Celice," Levin admonished disapprovingly. "In recent years, fewer and fewer people have come to support the churches, because of Prince Julius' threats against it. As a result many of the priests have become quite greedy, and few will support you without... persuading."

"Persuading," Celice mimicked, raising an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Didn't the first students of Crusader Blagi swear an oath to be faithful to the people?"

Levin nodded sadly. "That they did. But over time, Celice, promises are forgotten. People who had sworn one thing instead say something else. Few Blagi priests even believe there ever was such an oath anymore, much less abide by it."

"That's..." Celice sighed heavily, hanging his head. Why must politics be so difficult? Why couldn't politics be simple, like warfare? Commanding and creating strategies came naturally to Celice. But politics, where everyone attacked one another for their own gain – which, Celice acknowledged, was not wholly unlike war – was a different matter entirely.

"That is how it is now," Levin said, too bluntly for Celice's liking. "Don't like it? Take down your brother and right his wrongs."

The sound of a loud smash, followed by frantic apologies pouring from Skasaha's mouth faster than Celice had ever heard anyone speak before brought their attention from their grim discussion to the otherwise lighthearted festivities around them. The torches lighting up the marketplace gave the night sky a more pleasant feel, Celice thought as he stared up at the stars. Only a dozen or so stars had yet become visible, the rest either having yet to make their presence known or hiding behind the many clouds.

"How did someone raised by Shanan and Oifaye turn out like that?" Levin asked incredulously, directing with a nod to where Skasaha was down on his hands and knees, bowing repeatedly to a very exasperated vendor. Nearby was an expensive vase lined with gold and silver streams that outlined the entire vase and overlapping one another, with Skasaha's sword stuck in the side of it and several shards laying on the ground around it.

"Skasaha is just as serious as all of us when he has to be," Celice laughed. "I kind of envy him, really."

"Why is that?" Levin asked, though the indifference in his voice almost led Celice to believe he was simply asking out of formality.

"He and Lakche refuse to believe that Lady Arya could be dead. No matter how many times Shanan tells them that she probably died with my father at Barhara, they don't listen. It is the hope of finding Lady Arya that lets Skasaha smile like that." Celice looked away as Skasaha got hit in the head with the blunt side of his own sword, the impact sending a resounding thud through the air. "But for me, I know that my father died at Barhara. My father was killed by Alvis himself. I don't have any hope to cling to."

"You don't believe that." It wasn't a question, Celice noted, though he said nothing. Levin scowled when Celice didn't respond – Celice could feel a shiver unconsciously run down his spine no matter how hard he tried to prevent it – and forced Celice to face him, staring into his eyes with eyes that held more depth than Celice thought possible. "Your father may not be alive, but neither is Arya – I can assure you that, as I watched her die. You have nothing to cling to and yet you can move forward. For them," Levin pointed idly at Skasaha, "what will happen when they finally realize their mother truly is dead? All of this hope will crash around them."

"Yeah, but..."

Celice's vain attempt to draw attention to the lingering remnants of longing in his heart – that really weren't entirely there at all – fell on deaf ears as some sort of realization suddenly dawned on Levin. "Ah, yes, Celice," he said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder once again. "I need you to do a favor for me."

"A favor?"

Levin nodded and then waved over his shoulder, presumably to give somebody – who, though, was the question – the okay to approach. "I need you to watch over somebody for me. I have been taking care of her for a while now, but she would be safer here with you."

Celice fought the urge to jump at the opportunity and say yes senselessly, for despite the selfless side of him that wanted to do so he knew that partaking in such a thoughtless action was unwise given his position. "Who is it?" he asked instead.

A young girl slowly poked her head out from behind Levin, tentatively glancing at Celice for a long second before nodding, stepping out behind Levin entirely. At full height she was a whole head shorter than Levin, with silver hair that reached far down her back and gray eyes so innocently inquisitive that Celice actually did a double-take upon glancing at them. Celice fumbled helplessly for something to say, warring mentally between the logical side of him that said to think about the situation and the impulsive side of him that was coming back with a vengeance, urging him to take the selfless route that he had so often taken in the past. Is this how his father had felt when he met mother, perhaps?

"This is Julia," Levin said, placing his hands on her shoulders. Julia, in turn, smiled and leaned back against Levin's hands, suddenly looking like the happiest person alive. Celice had a suddenly impulsive want to keep that smile on her face forever, but he was careful to mask any sign of such a sentiment. "I found her outside Barhara and, as I said, have been watching over her since. But it is dangerous in the Yied desert, and I can no longer safely take her with me. Can I leave her in your hands?"

Celice doubted he could have said no had he even wanted to.

Well, this chapter kind of grabbed my imagination by the horns and pulled it along for a lot longer than I had intended. And the sad part is, I got exactly as far as I had intended to take this chapter. Covered the introduction straight through to the capture of Ganeishire (which I probably turned into a more dramatic affair than I needed to; I thought it was fitting, the way I did it), ending off with Julia's recruitment. Next chapter will pick up roughly where this left off, with the fall of Sophara and Isaac castles and through to the death of King Dannan at Rivough. And then we get into the really fun part: the Yied Desert and the Thracian Penninsula. Ah, how I long to introduce a handful of Fin!Hero Lance awesomeness.


	3. Chapter Two: Gods and Men

I don't really have a whole lot I need to say, given the fact that I already expressed just about all of it at the end of the last chapter. This chapter will be running up until the capture of Rivough (the end of Chapter Six), and beyond that there isn't much that needs saying.

Usual disclaimers stand, no need to repeat them. Case remains the same in my warning pertaining to my choice of pairing – you've seen the hints, you pick up on them.

* * *

"Lord Celice, this place is..."

Frightening? Despairing? Possibly life threatening? Celice wasn't sure which most aptly described the run down church that acted as the sole outpost for Blagi priests in Isaac, but the fear in Julia's voice was well earned. There were walls that had been broken in, places where animals had obviously driven away the priests and taken up residence – such as in the corners, where there was naught but disgusting amounts of dust and spider webs. It all served to prove Levin's point in regards to what had become of the Blagi sect in recent years, and that the influence of the Lopt sect was increasing steadily.

"Oifaye," Celice called over his shoulder, kicking his right leg outward irritably in an attempt to rid it of a spider web that had flung itself at his feet, literally. "Set up a perimeter and send some people to investigate the second floor. Julia and I will check the basement."

"Yes, Your Highness," Oifaye replied dutifully and respectfully, pride evident in his eager tone of voice. Celice smiled softly to himself while he nodded toward a winding staircase that led to the basement, urging Julia to follow with a wave of the hand.

"Where are all the priests?" Julia asked as she fell into step with him, looking from side to side repeatedly, her face showing varying levels of disgust and fear. Despite his acknowledgment of the part of his brain telling him that there was nothing he could do about it, Celice felt sympathy for her.

"They are aware that this area will become a battleground soon, I am sure," Celice replied casually, gripping the dusty banister of the winding staircase that seemed to lead into a black pit of nothing and beginning the long descent into what could, for all he knew, have been a sacrificial grounds for Lopt priests. "If any are brave enough to remain, they would not be out in the open." While they descended Celice grew increasingly aware of the putrid scent coming from the basement, and the churning of his stomach begged him to turn back. He opted not to listen.

When they reached the bottom, they found themselves in a large chamber as large as the foyer and sanctuary above combined, with tables lining both sides of the room in a manner much like a mess hall. Chandeliers with six burning candles apiece hung above each table, giving the dark room an ethereal glow. The stone from which the room – like the rest of the church – was made appeared to be polished, and the room lacked any of the decay, animal infestations or spider webs that were commonplace on the floors above. In fact, the only thing that was out of place was...

... the pile of dead priests, all of them either maimed or burned, on the far side of the room. Celice couldn't help it any longer; he doubled over in place and emptied his stomach onto the floor.

"Be careful, Lord Celice..." Julia said, quiet and deathly serious. "There is somebody here. Somebody that shouldn't be."

"Other than us," Celice quipped wryly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he straightened himself out again. One hand went to the hilt of his father's sword at his right hip while the other brushed his bangs from his face, scanning the room quickly. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the aforementioned pile of bodies. Celice's stomach churned unpleasantly again, simply at the thought of the gruesome bodies. They looked like they had been part of a cult sacrifice, disfigured beyond recognition in preparation to be used as an offering. Wait... "Could it be the Lopt sect?" Celice wondered aloud, pacing toward the bodies for closer – yet careful – inspection.

"Lord Celice, look out!" Celice dodged to the side just in time to see a billowing cloud of darkness pass by where he had been just moments before. It continued until it had nearly reached the wall, where it exploded into a light haze that spread out and eventually faded away. Celice turned in the direction of where the attack had come from to see a man – or at least he presumed so; Celice had no way of telling gender – cloaked from head to toe in a black cloak, holding a tome of what Celice suspected was darkness open and chanting something under his breath. Celice drew his sword and charged, only to find the wind knocked out of him as a skull was launched from the open palm of the priest's hand, filling him with an uncontrollable sense of dread while his body was torn inside out by an unseen force. He cried out in sheer agony as it went on, collapsing to his hands and knees unceremoniously.

"You are foolish to have come here, Imposter Prince," the priest rumbled, throwing back his hood to reveal a bald head, scars etched into the scalp and one running down his forehead and over his right eye. "His Excellency has already foreseen your coming here. The Blagi sect truly is weakening, though – I killed all of them myself."

"You..." Celice gasped, trying and failing to rise to his feet, as though held down by the same unseen force that had only just ceased it's assault on his innards.

"Oh, don't worry," the man said with a dismissive gesture, shrugging his shoulders. "They were dead long before they knew I was here. It was His Excellency's orders that I not follow Archbishop Manfloy's example and take it lightheartedly. They felt nothing beyond a brief second of the worst agony imaginable, I assure you."

"You are a monster," Celice said quietly, finally pulling himself to his feet. Though it took a lot more energy than he would have liked, Celice moved so that he was between the priest and Julia, looking over his shoulder and urging her with his eyes to run. She shook her head but remained in place, rooted to the ground.

"Ah, so you would defend her," the priest laughed, throwing his head back and letting the harsh sound of his laughter echo throughout the room. "Do you know who she is? Know how hard we have been trying to ---"

"Silence!" Celice barked. In the blink of an eye he had closed the distance between the priest and himself, pushing his sword through the priest's stomach with as much force as he could manage. "Levin trusted me to protect her," he spat as he pulled his sword back and sheathed it, watching the priest collapse in a growing pool of his own blood. "I will not let you touch her!"

"... Lord Celice?" Celice turned on his heel to watch Julia, who was looking down at the corpse with an indecipherable expression. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine, Julia," Celice replied lightly. "We will have to take care, though. We cannot be sure where Manfloy has sent the Lopt sect."

Julia nodded, looking from Celice to the priest several times. "Let me heal you," she said finally, brandishing a staff half the length of her body that had been previously strapped to her back.

Celice frowned, moving to walk past her before Julia grabbed his hand with her free one, holding him in place with a startlingly strong grip. "I said I was fine, Julia," Celice insisted – in vain, apparently.

"Dark magic is not like the other elemental magics, or so Lord Levin says," Julia said absently, turning Celice to face her and unbuttoning his blazer down the middle, partic the blue and white fabric to either side to inspect where the previous assault of dark magic had hit him. There was no real sign of any wound, but the area where he had been hit was steadily turning a mix of purple and black, almost as though a bruise were forming on his stomach. "Uh-oh," she breathed worriedly, hurriedly pressing the blue orb atop her staff to Celice's stomach and pouring as much of her energy into it as she could.

"Uh-oh?" Celice echoed, watching the lines of worry etch themselves into Julia's face. Seeing those made him worry as well, albeit subconsciously.

"Lord Levin says that dark magic isn't really magic at all," Julia explained, not looking away from Celice's stomach and her work on the growing bruise-like marking there. "It is more like a disease. The more you have been exposed to it, the easier it is to resist the 'side affects' that come with exposure to it. This is your first time fighting dark magic, right?"

"... Yeah," Celice muttered, caught between the adorable focus Julia was displaying – he meant admirable, not adorable; slip of the mind, really – and the surprisingly vast knowledge she, and by extension Levin, had of dark magic. The most Celice knew was what Oifaye and Shanan had to say of it from brief trips into the Yied desert, which had since become an infestation for the Lopt sect and a land that promised death to all others. And neither of them had any true exposure to the forsaken magic.

"Few know it before it's too late, but dark magic does more than the outward damage you are aware of." Julia pulled away from Celice's stomach long enough to give it a once over, then grimaced and pressed the staff back to his stomach with renewed effort. "Lord Levin says that dark magic brings out the affinity in magic."

"Affinity?" Celice questioned, at a loss.

"Yes. Affinity is, for lack of a better way to put it, the good and evil in magic. Dark magic is evil, light is good, and the elements are neutral."

"Isn't it... presumptuous to refer to them in such a manner?" Celice asked, scratching idly at the back of his neck.

"Lord Levin could word it better than I could – bear with me." Julia pressed harder at Celice's stomach, unhearing or entirely unaware of the grunt it brought out of him. "Dark magic is the most dangerous of all magic. This magic – Hel magic – is hardly the worst."

"Hel magic?"

"It, or so says Lord Levin, attacks your body in such a way that it steadily drains you of all but the faintest trace of life. This can be healed through the use of staves, at least." Julia frowned and looked up, and Celice had to force back a wince at the look of genuine worry on her face. "Had it been anything else, you could have been poisoned by the dark magic invading your nerves, or forced to endure nightmares that drain you of the will to live or, worse, you could have been killed before you knew you'd been hit. That is what happened to the priests."

While she went into a long winded description of the more specific properties of dark magic – properties Celice neither understood nor particularly cared for – Celice tried to not focus on the completely different side of Julia he was seeing. The Julia he had met two days ago had been timid, hiding behind Levin and not talking to anybody except Celice. This had quickly changed, of course, but she still chose to remain close to Celice at all times, as though she hadn't felt secure away from his side. Given the fact that it had only been her and Levin for what Celice presumed must have been several years, he could understand her reluctance to be in a large crowd.

But this Julia – the assertive, caring Julia that seemed far too serious for it to be fathomable that she was the least bit timid – was worlds apart from the Julia he had met. The way she took to explaining things that Celice had never dared believe existed – which she had learned from Levin, but Celice chose not to pursue that point – and the way she took charge in a way that reminded Celice almost too much of the stories he had heard of his mother... surely the hammering in his chest was a result of this new, unforeseen Julia. Right?

* * *

When the two finally emerged from the basement looking far more composed than either truly were, they found the main floor a complete disaster area. All furniture in the foyer had been moved to the center of the room to make way for soldiers cleaning it from top to bottom, the pews in the sanctuary had been parted to the side for much the same reason, and the two rooms that parted to either side of the foyer were both swarming with more soldiers, all cleaning. In the middle of the foyer was Oifaye, directing orders in a commander-like fashion that belied the nature of the tasks he was handing out. Celice couldn't help the chuckles when he saw the deathly serious look on Oifaye's face while he said, "Go help Skasaha clean the bedrooms."

"What are you doing?" Celice asked as soon as Oifaye was free of anybody looking for orders, dimly aware of Julia trudging along behind him, as was her wont.

"If we are to make a temporary residence out of this place, we need to make it a respectable place," Oifaye replied neutrally, running his finger along the arm of a chair that had been deposited beside him. "As it is, this place is not suitable for a Prince."

Celice shook his head mournfully. "Oifaye, I am a Prince in name only. I have not lived my life as a Prince would, and I am not dependant on such luxuries. It is not perfect, but this church is fine for it's purpose."

"With all due respect, Your Highness, it would be an insult upon my duty as your charge were I not to make sure you are comfortable." Oifaye grabbed the arm of the chair beside him and lifted it so that it was upright, revealing a torn cushion and dust layering the fine wood from which the chair was made. "Whether you are accustomed to it or not, you are a Prince in every sense of the title. And if you are not treated as such, I am a failure to the Chalphys."

"I understand," Celice smiled tightly, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. He winced slightly when the nod made his stomach twist and turn in pain, which did not go unnoticed by Oifaye. "I'm fine," Celice said dismissively, waving away Oifaye's concern with one hand while the other subconsciously reached for his stomach.

"It does not appear to be so, Your Highness," Oifaye admonished gruffly, putting his hands on his hips – which looked decicively amusing, or so said the part of Celice that had a capacity for humor – and giving Celice the sternest stare he could manage. "What did you two find in the basement?" he asked, not unlike a parent scolding their child for a wrongdoing. The notion made Celice feel warm inside.

"All the priests are dead," Celice replied grimly, concealing the part of him that wanted to continue the strange father-son bonding moment they had been sharing behind a thickly veiled mask of indifference. This indifference was disrupted by the sadness and the sickness that came with recalling the bodies they had found, he realized with some disdain. "Lopt priests have begun taking over Blagi churches all across Jugdral, it would seem. We will have to be careful."

"The Lopt sect?" Oifaye whispered harshly, trying almost too hard to keep his voice level. "Were there any here?"

"Just one," Celice replied carefully, unsure just how seriously Oifaye was taking the incident. "I took a minor wound, but Julia took care of it."

Oifaye nodded gratefully to Julia, who smiled bashfully and turned away. "I thank you, Lady Julia. I know not what I ought to have done if His Highness had not been treated swiftly."

"He was struck by Hel magic," Julia replied as soon as the pink tinging her cheeks had gone away – shy Julia back with a vengeance, Celice presumed. "So it could have been much worse."

"Hel magic is quite rare amongst even the Lopt sect, so yes, we were lucky," Oifaye grunted, before turning to Celice. "What, Your Highness, were you thinking in facing him alone?"

"I wasn't," Celice responded truthfully, lowering his head. "I didn't anticipate him being so strong."

"Your Highness," Oifaye grumbled disapprovingly, "do you not remember what I told you of the Lopt bishop Beldo?"

"Among the Lopt sect, he is one of the strongest?" Celice tried hesitantly.

"More than that, Your Highness, he is nothing compared to Prince Julius and Archbishop Manfloy. The Lopt sect is powerful, and they are unlike anybody your father faced in his time. We must be careful when facing them."

"Why did you tell me none of this before?" Celice asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It was not imperative that you knew, just as it was not imperative that you knew that several of the scouting missions Shanan or I went on was to gather information about the Lopt sect. Facing them blindly will be inviting defeat."

"He is right, Lord Celice," Julia added, frowning when Celice scowled in response. "Having you worry, I think, would have been the worst thing Sir Oifaye could have done. And the Lopt sect is stronger than what you want to be thinking about; even with his skill as a sage, Lord Levin nearly died many times trying to protect me from Lopt priests."

"Levin did?" Celice asked disbelievingly, skeptical of there even being such a possibility. Levin, of all people, nearly dying? The thought of such a thing was foreign to Celice, to say the least.

"This is all quite irrelevant, Your Highness," Oifaye grunted. "At any rate, if the Lopt sect has come this far we cannot hope to be free of them for much longer. Be on your guard, Your Highness, for I fear they shall strike regularly and without relent from now on."

"Tell the troops to be wary whenever something doesn't feel right." Celice scratched his cheek, shrugging when Oifaye raised an eyebrow and gave him an almost amusingly bewildered look. "At least, that's what I felt. Like something wasn't right – a displacement of sorts. The feeling went away after I had killed the priest."

"I felt the same thing," Julia added helpfully.

"That must be a distant power of Loputousu," Oifaye mused wryly, scratching his chin in a sagely way. Where this bit of wisdom had come from was unknown to Celice, however.

"But they don't have his blood running in their veins," Celice said, voicing his apparent lack of knowledge. The look Oifaye gave him didn't make him feel any the wiser, either.

"It is part of the Lopt sect's rituals," Oifaye explained, speaking slowly and deliberately, as though Celice was incapable of understanding what was being said the first time it was said. "Every year the priests drink a small bit of Prince Julius' blood – let me finish," he quickly said, noticing that the color in Celice's face was surely draining, along with the remainder of his stomach's contents. "Anyway, Lopt priests are all infused with a small portion of Loputousu's power, through the blood of Prince Julius."

"That is disgusting," Celice grunted, placing one hand over his stomach in a vain effort to stave off the returning threat of emptying it.

"It is not uncommon," Oifaye shrugged, speaking as though the entire ordeal were nothing out of the ordinary – for one whom had experienced as much as he in so short a time, Celice presumed that was the case. "Even the Blagi sect once did it. In recent years Saint Blagi's descendants have grown more independent of the sect itself and so the blood ritual no longer remains custom for them, but there was a time when they too drank the blood of their respective deity."

"Is this what the Holy War truly brought upon Jugdral?" Celice asked petulantly, wishing he could have asked the question with more distaste than he had. As it was, it sounded like little more than a question of innocent curiosity.

"What do you mean?" Oifaye asked in turn.

"Jugdral is ruled by the memory of it's saviors' descendants!" Celice cried, throwing his arms in the air out of exasperation. "Saint Heim's family has ruled Grandbell since it's foundation; the Crusader Noba and her sister Dain have ruled over the Thracia Penninsula just as long! And now I hear this and that of religious sacrifices to Saint Blagi and to Loputousu, and I cannot help but wonder if this continent is doomed to be drowned by the memory of the Crusaders and Loputousu. Everything seems to involve them in some depraved manner or another anyhow."

"While I understand your meaning, Your Highness, it is so for good reason."

"Yes, I am aware," Celice said, willing himself to a palpable calm. "Like the Crusaders, Loputousu too continues to live in the blood of those who descend from him. So long as such is the case, so too must the Crusaders remain, for the possibility of his return lingers still."

"Do not take this truth to be that which it is not, Your Highness," Oifaye snapped quietly. "While it is true that our duty as descendants of the Crusaders is to fight Loputousu, his descendants in themselves are not evil." He paused while he waited for this to sink in, but Celice remained unresponsive. He sighed then, running a hand through his carefully kept brown hair, the long strands that framed his face remaining perfectly in place as though by sorcery. "Take your mother for example, Your Highness. Lady Deirdre was the gentlest soul I ever had the pleasure to meet, and Shanan had the honor of being her protector. Moreover, she changed your father in ways I never would have thought possible. She brought out such an impossible amount of good in him that it was hard to imagine he could be the esteemed son of Duke Byron, a man to be feared even amongst the highest of Grandbell's nobility."

Celice was spared – thankfully so – from any further conversing of such nature when Skasaha entered the church, looking more grim than he had in all the time Celice had known him. His expression was so grim, in fact, that Celice didn't even stop to wonder when he had left from his supposed work area on the second floor. "Eh... Your Highness?" he asked carefully. He probably, Celice thought, sensed the tense energy pouring from both himself and Oifaye.

"What is it?"

"Well..." Skasaha scratched his cheek and looked away, staring out into the cold Isaacian fields that surrounded the church. "We have visitors."

"Show them in," Celice ordered sternly, turning to watch as a man with short cut auburn hair walked in, his blue breastplate shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Celice felt a sudden overwhelming sense of rage overtake his senses and he drew his sword, pointing it at the offending visitor. Though he knew not whom the visitor was, those red eyes – the eyes of King Dannan – were unmistakable.

"Stay your hand, please, Your Highness," Oifaye said quietly, pressing his hand to the hilt of Celice's sword and lowering it. He then turned to their visitor, raising his head in a manner befitting one of superiority and said gruffly, "State your business."

"Of course." He lowered himself to one knee, placing one hand over his heart and the other to the handle of the axe Celice had only just noticed was strapped to his side. "Johan Neiran Dozel, Your Highness. I come to offer my axe and my knights of Isaac to your cause."

"Never have you made an attempt to extend your hand to me before," Celice stated, reluctantly sheathing his sword. "Why, then, ought I to believe that your fidelity is genuine?"

Johan frowned, though otherwise he remained unresponsive to Celice's distrust. "I ask not that you trust me, Prince of Light. I ask only that you accept my aid."

"And what would have brought about this decision?"

At once Johan jumped to his feet, a starstruck look crossing his face as he clasped his hands together in front of his chest. "Why, the Lady Lakche of course! I could never bring myself to do her harm, and if fight my family I must in order to swear my undying love for her, than so it shall be."

"... Right," Celice coughed, returning his hand to his sword's hilt. "I trust you understand that I'll not accept the aid of those I do not trust – my power is far too weak to allow such a thing. Be that as it may, I will require a means to prove I can trust you."

"If I may, Your Highness, I have a suggestion," Oifaye said suddenly, again thwarting Celice's attempt to draw his sword. "To the west lies Sophara castle, and defending it is Prince Johalva, Prince Johan's brother. Perhaps we can send him and his knights to attack Sophara?"

"As it stands," Johan continued, "your position is also threatened by my father's knights. They have left Rivough, and it will take them little time to retake Isaac Castle from my own knights. You need to be able to focus on your enemy, right?"

As Celice nodded positively the only thought running through his head was: Why couldn't he have been blessed with less trust?

* * *

"So you are Celice."

Celice pulled his sword out from the depths of yet another horse, again wallowing in the guilt of having to kill the thrice-accursed stubborn steeds, and turned. His sword had been turned an awful red from the blood that had been spilt, and he himself surely had a fair amount of it covering him. Around him lay no less than a hundred bodies, all King Dannan's men save for a few that had been unfortunate enough to leave the safety of the woods surrounding the small peasant-built settlement that hugged Isaac's eastern border. The axe-wielding knights of Rivough had been cut down in short order, hard pressed to break through the barrier of swordsmen Celice had assembled along the woods' edge – and thrice he thanked that decision, for their had been not one casualty amongst the swordsmen – and then decimated before the fierce cavalry charge of Johan's returning knights.

The man standing before Celice was a head shorter than himself, and were it not for the age worn into his face Celice suspected he'd have mistaken the man for but a child. He wore robes belonging to those of a travelling pilgrim, black with purple designs etched into the fabric, and his long silver hair reached nearly to the small of his back. The grin on his face was disconcerting to say the least, entirely uncharacteristic of his otherwise deathly serious demeanor. Though despite this, Celice felt an inexplicable desire to trust the man with his life, as he had with all of his friends – Johan included, now, though he was still adverse to admitting it.

"And you are?" Celice asked, raising an eyebrow for presence's sake. He didn't need the fact that he was trusting a complete stranger running around for all to know, of course.

"Ah, me. Of course, of course." He dropped to one knee and, in a gesture that was far too exaggerated to have been made out of any true respect, crossed both arms over his chest as he proceeded to bow repeatedly. "Arthur Falan Velthomer, if it would please His Highness," he drawled in an equally dramatic fashion, grinning up at Celice all the while. "Will that do?"

"It will suffice," Celice muttered, pulling Arthur back to his feet. "And I ---"

"Celice Baldos Chalphy, Prince of Light, Grandbell's Imposter Prince, elder half-brother to Crown Prince Julius, son of the Light Empress and her supposed but yet unconfirmed husband Sigurd the Hero. Both of whom, I may add, were rather close to my father, Azel Falan Velthomer my mother, Tiltyu Tordoa Freege."

"Azel and Tiltyu!" Celice breathed, taking a step back in shock. "So you have come out of obligation to your parents?"

"No," Arthur deadpanned, stepping around Celice and waving his arm. Gusts of wind poured from his body and surged forward, cutting through what Celice could only have assumed was no less than five knights, given the collective screams of agony. "That's Fee's business. I've come from Silesia in search of my sister, and Fee thought it would be, 'Just grand!', if I were to join your liberation effort with her."

"We all have different reasons for fighting," Celice said, turning on his heel and swinging as another brazen horse tried to knock him down in it's rage. It's rider, predictably, fell with the horse, crushed under it's weight and left for dead. "So long as you have one, it gives you desires. So long as you have desires, you will not go mad from the fighting – that's what I believe anyway. At any rate, trouble has a thing for coming to us. That being said, I am sure we will find your sister eventually, especially if she is your sister by blood."

"She is."

"That settles it." Celice nodded as he pointed his sword outward, cleansing it of the blood that had soaked it with a simple wipe of his increasingly dirty cloth. Once it had been cleaned he placed the flat edge of it to the crown of Arthur's head, still smiling lightly. "Can I trust you, Arthur Falan Velthomer to aid me, as your father did mine?"

Arthur nodded. "You can, Your Highness. And in turn, Celice Baldos Chalphy," he said, rising to his feet and placing his hand on Celice's head – Oifaye probably would have had a fit had he seen it – and grabbing a tuft of hair lightly, "can I trust in you to treat me as your own, to make me the brother my father was to your's?"

Celice removed Arthur's hand from his hair, turning to look into the distance, where the burning mass of Isaac castle could be seen upon a distant cliffside. The country's namesake had been under siege for nearly as long as battle had been waged in the forests where Celice stood, fending off attack from the pegasus knight and her squad whom had recently acquitted themselves with the Liberation Army – Fee was her name, if Celice recalled. "I have inherited much from my father's selflessness, Arthur. My name, my sword, and even my friends came from him. I'll not let my father's good name be sullied by me not being every bit as good. And so, in lieu of your sister, I shall be your family." He turned back to Arthur and grinned, realizing only after the fact that the bright smile felt completely foreign and a little uncomfortable on his face. "So long as you know that, here in Isaac alone, you now have two more brothers and sisters."

"Speaking of, Your Highness," Oifaye said, revealing his unbeknownst presence from amidst a nearby cluster of trees, "the Lady Fee has said something along the lines of searching for her brother." He turned to Arthur, scrutinizing him silently, and then pointed to the sky where a pegasus was circling overhead. "Would you have any idea whom she is searching for?"

"Silesia's prince, Sety, and it's runaway King," Arthur answered with a frown. "The elusive King Levin."

"Pity, that," Celice muttered, looking skyward. "Levin is not one to be found unless he wants to be found. From what I know of him, it has always been that way, has it not?"

Oifaye nodded. "Only his bond with your father made him decide to leave solitude. Otherwise, Lady Fury never would have found him."

"You're telling me you guys have seen him?" Arthur asked, only a little disbelievingly.

"Uh-huh," Celice nodded, pondering the question for several moments. "Just a few days ago, at Ganeishire."

"Ah!" Arthur cried suddenly, looking far too happy for it to be settling. "I have to tell Fee!"

"You cannot," Oifaye said immediately, before Celice could get in a word – though his intent had been along the same lines. "Levin left Silesia for his own reasons, and while I cannot say I know what they are, it is a matter that must be kept between him and his family. It is not our right to intrude, whether we want to or not."

"Besides, personal matters have no place on the battlefield." Arthur grinned indulgently, throwing a significant look in Oifaye's direction that was not missed by Celice. "That is what you would say, anyway, right?"

Oifaye laughed lightly, leaving Celice to wonder what was so humorous. "You two have met?" he asked dumbly, for lack of anything better to ask.

"Oifaye came to Silesia on one of his scouting missions," Arthur explained. "It happened that I had been visiting Fee in the capital at the time, and as luck would have it we had the honor of being forced into a training session together by the Queen."

"Fury?" Celice asked, more to Oifaye than to Arthur – and specifically, more toward Oifaye's reluctance to tell him.

"The Queen stayed a fierce woman all her life," Oifaye sighed, shaking his head. "Had almost no presence for nobility, either. She had a score of friends from amongst the commonpeople and her own knights."

"At any rate, we can settle this later," Celice said quickly, eager to move on to more important matters – and matters that didn't involve one of his mentors keeping information from him with no due explanation. "How fares the siege on Isaac?"

"Save for a score of mercenaries presumably hired by King Dannan, the castle was completely unguarded," Oifaye said just as quickly. "It would seem Sir Johan was right; Dannan hadn't thought to deploy troops to Isaac after his knights retook the castle."

"Take Arthur and make sure the castle is under our control, and have Skasaha take some swordsmen into the forest in case of a possible counterattack. And I'll..." Celice looked around, scratching his head out of a bewildered habit. "... Where's Julia?"

"Incidentally, Your Highness, I had come to you wondering the same," Oifaye replied neutrally, leaving Celice to wonder how he could remain so calm. After all, it was an incident like this that had befallen...

"It's not happening again."

Oifaye raised an eyebrow, asking, "What isn't?"

"My father lost Deirdre like this. I will not see the same fate befall Julia and I."

Arthur swivelled a finger in the air, grinning in a knowing way that almost frightened Celice, "You would remember that the key difference is in the fact that this Julia person is not your wife, right?" His grin faded and he lowered his arm, repeating quietly, "... Right?"

"Levin trusted me with her safety," Celice went on, as though he hadn't heard Arthur at all. He had, of course, but he decided not to acknowledge the question placed before him with an answer.

And then he was off. Before he could even stop to think about what he was doing or where he was going, his legs had torn off across the ground, digging up tufts of grass or dirt with every forceful lift of his booted foot, moving with such force and such purpose that his calves ached from the strain being placed upon them. But he cared not. For whatever reason it was that drove him to such lengths of insanity, he would not see Julia suffer the same fate Deirdre had. Torn from his side as Deirdre had been from his father's, leaving a torn heart in her wake... He had to wonder though, why was he so determined to compare himself and Julia to his father and Deirdre? It was true that there were immediate similarities between the four, but he and Julia were nothing more than people pressed into these circumstances, right? It wasn't as though he had wisked her away from her home on some selfish desire to keep her by his side or anything...

Why couldn't he find that idea displeasing, either? Was he truly so selfish as to do that to a friend? A friend he hardly knew, no less. A friend who, with every glance sent his way, filled his heart with the pleasant sensation he could only suspect to be the love he'd been so sorely deprived of all his life. The sort of love his mother and father – and later just his father – had surely bestowed upon him during the first years of his life, before the duty to show such affection had fallen upon Shanan and Oifaye, both of whom were incapable of showing that loving devotion. Celice didn't like to think he'd led a sad life – though the hiding from the empire, the watching his friends get wisked away for the child hunts and the being raised almost all his life with a practice sword in his hand suggested otherwise – but the feeling that Julia gave him surpassed all others in such a way that he suddenly longed to be held by his mother again, to have the sometimes embarrassing but generally enjoyable 'Father and Son' talks with his father, and to feel the love he hadn't truly felt in seventeen long years. So long, in fact, that he no longer remembered what that loving feeling had felt like.

After twenty minutes of running – over fields, through dense patches of forestry, and even up to the highest points of two different cliffs that both overlooked the ravine that led to Isaac – however, Celice was starting to feel like quite the fool. He was no novice to horseback riding, right? So why had it not occurred to him to borrow Oifaye's horse? Well, besides the fact that Oifaye surely would have refused and that such a request would have provided Oifaye the opportunity to stop Celice from going off in search and instead saying something along the lines of, "It is unbecoming of a Prince to do such a thing, and I will not have you follow in your father's footsteps in such a manner." And if Celice were thinking logically, which he clearly was not, he would have conceded to the fact that Oifaye's argument was inexcusably valid. But by God, Celice would sooner leave Julia for dead than allow another to carry out the duty that Levin had left to him and him alone. Or was it the satisfaction of receiving her gratitude that he wanted? Ah, matters of the heart and mind when in conflict, as was often the case, were so very confusing. And Celice had not the time to decode the different opinions coming from the two parts of his body.

"Ah, there he is!" A voice hollered from above. In his semi-aware state Celice would have started rattling off the names of various Gods that would be reaching out to him in his head, had he already not firmly decided that the Gods had already forsaken Jugdral in favor of leaving it's fate to the Crusaders. As it was, that faith – or lack thereof – alone kept him aware enough to recognize the voice to be Fee's, along with the sound of wings gliding easily in the air that answered the question of hows and whats that had assaulted his mind. His mind that could apparently recognize Fee but not recognize the fact that she was a Pegasus knight and therefore had command over the skies, likely a side effect of his mind's internal fallout. Levin would surely have an answer for his brain's shutdown when he returned, however.

"Fee!" Celice called back, patting the hilt of his sword in greeting – he dared not try to understand who had made such a strange thing custom, but Shanan had forced it into his mind for years until it had finally stuck. "Can you scout around the area? Julia is missing!"

"Already done!" Fee called over the sound of dirt flying up as her mount landed. "And here," she said quieter, finally able to be heard over the loud noises created by her abrupt landing. She reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a heavy looking book which, upon closer inspection, was most certainly a tome of some kind. "Skasaha and Johan found it in Isaac. When you find Julia, give it to her, will ya?"

Celice accepted the tome gratefully, realizing only too late that he had nowhere to put it and would thus have to run with it. "Where is she?"

"About that..."

"Fee," Celice insisted impatiently, tapping his foot.

"I didn't exactly find her, really..." Fee muttered looking skyward – surely to escape the near murderous look that was writen into his own face, Celice thought. "But I did find a pack of bandits – from the Sophara Mountains, I think – that were saying something or another about a pretty girl and making a lot of money off of her..." Fee's facial expression took on a comical mimicry of a bandit's, and she continued in a deep tone of voice, "'We really lucked out with this one! If tha boss 'don want her, she'd make us quite a lotta loot back on the Homeland.'"

"Thank you, Fee," Celice replied sincerely, though he spoke rather quickly and could hardly understand the words coming out of his own mouth. Before Fee could have said anything, probably something akin to and as eloquent as, "Huh?" Celice had taken off once again. He had a suspicion of where these bandits would be hiding from past excursions to the area surrounding Sophara, during which time he and Shanan had ventured into the mountains. Granted he had been but thirteen at the time and it had been, according to Shanan, a coming of age thing test for Isaacians, but the memory of watching Shanan gallantly slaying a score of bandits in Celice's defense had remained embedded in his mind ever since. It had been the last time Shanan had held him as a father would have, showing him the level of affection that Shanan had displayed in his life until that point. From then on they were somewhat distant, still close and yet at the same time keeping a firm boundary between where they stood and where they had been in the past.

Running with a tome occupying one of his hands, just as everything else had, became a nonexistant factor to Celice before long. Not only did everything wash away when he focused solely on gathering the necessary strength to lift his legs again and again, but the fact that he now had a destination – and a damsel in need of his saving, lest she fall into distress – renewed him with a sense of purpose that reminded him of the sole truth that wrang out above all others to him; Julia was the only thing that mattered now. Not the war, if it could be called such at this time, and not his friends. They were secure in their newly conquered home at Isaac Castle, while Julia was carted off by a group of bandits intent on selling her as a slave, but surely not before having their ways with her themselves.

* * *

The Sophara Mountains, thankfully, were a range of mountains that looked far more imposing from afar. While from a distance they appeared to be terrifying, towering over both Sophara and Rivough with snow covered peaks and lushly forested mountainsides, the reality was far different. Winding through them were a series of trails that, if one knew them well enough, could easily provide access to all of southern Isaac. More than once had Grandbell used these trails, most notably during their initial occupation of Isaac and later when military forces were dispatched to clear out remnant rebel groups and other such resistance to the dominance of His Majesty Emperor Alvis. Shanan had given him a crash course on how to navigate them, and Celice was confident he knew the mountain range well enough to at least get by. Or at the very least, well enough to find a bandit hideaway that would more than likely stick out like a sore thumb in the mountains.

Of course, they were not without their problems as well. While the trails were convenient, if a little confusing, they were also very similar to one another, making the journey through the Sophara Mountains a continuous cycle of looking at the same thing and praying to all known Deitys that your observational skills are sound enough to find minor differences in each individual trail that would make it physically possible to remember the way out again. This had been Celice's coming of age test, he remembered, and it had been a blessing then and a thousand more now that he had passed with ease. Shanan had complimented his skills that day, comparing him to the greatest of Isaacian scouts for his skillful eyes. Celice had never allowed that compliment to drift from his memory, just as he never allowed most things pertaining to Shanan to drift from his mind.

Celice scanned the mountains lining either side of the desolate trail once, then twice, before noticing a distinct and slightly odd growth of flowers in an area where a small bit of sunlight managed to reach them. He nodded to himself and turned, starting off down another trail that, other than ascending upwards and further into the mountains, was identical to the one he had been on previously. The trail was worn with dried mud with footprints forever embedded in the surface, like a visual cue in a child's game to help steer you in the right direction. The footprints were considerably larger than Celice's own, and the shape suggested they were of sandals at best; either that, or very worn boots with the fronts missing. In either case, it helped Celice tremendously in his search – the only people that used these trails that would wear either were bandits.

His steps, which had gone in a decline from sprinting to swift jogging to simply walking and now dragging in his various states of exhaustion, picked up with a sudden purpose. If this trail was so worn that the footprints were visible, the enemy couldn't be far. The enemy... Thinking about them in such a manner made Celice nervous. He had spared not a thought for how many there would be, and while he would likely have an advantage in armaments, they would have the advantage in knowledge of the terrain. Celice had never fought outside of a city, forest or plains, and fighting with his movements so limited as they were in the narrow trails of the Sophara Mountains made him feel even more nervous. Suddenly his hand reached for the hilt of his father's sword, and his eyes began scanning his surroundings an additional two times whenever he looked for a distinguishing mark. The last thing he needed, other than getting lost in the Sophara Mountains, was to be ambushed and put into a worse position than he was already in.

"Hah! You should have known better!" For all of his supposedly famed observational skills, however, Celice was completely off guard when an axe-wielding bandit lunged out from a hiding place that had been missed entirely just seconds prior. Thankfully his reflexes were just as sound, and he managed to turn about and throw up his sword in defense before his head was cleaved in two by a rusted axe. "Tha boss said you'd prob-bly be comin' for tha girl, he did," the bandit cackled, his uneven teeth and putrid breath nearly making Celice ill from their close proximity. "There be tens and tens of us, though. Think ya, nothin' but a pampered pup, can take us all?"

"It is people like you that have made corrupted Jugdral so utterly," Celice seethed, forcing the bandit away from him with a mere flick of his wrist. When the bandit moved in to attack again he swerved around it faster than the bandit seemed to think possible, and brought the tip of his sword to prickle along his throat. "I would ask if you would yield, but I fear your ways will not change even if I do show you that bit of leniency."

"An' what makes ya think that?"

Celice's free hand – well, as free as it was while holding the tome – shot out, grasping with the tips of his fingers the bandit's arm, which had been snaking secretively around to hit Celice from behind. "I think this hand speaks for itself, does it not?" Celice asked rhetorically, before driving his sword through the bandit's throat. He collapsed to the ground in a writhing mess, going still seconds later when the blood loss had become too great.

Before long Celice came to a forked pathway – he remembered it fondly because, when he had been here previously, Shanan had directed them right and sternly said never to take the other path. And of course, because it only made sense at this point in time, Celice took the left path. The trail became more narrow and the wind grew much more stale, though the latter was on account of the path's proximity to Rivough and Rivough's proximity to the Yied Desert, and Celice had an instant foreboding of danger. He brought his sword up and turned to either side slowly, scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger... Nothing. At least, not on first glance. Giving his surroundings another look, he noticed a small crack between two separate mountainsides, hardly large enough for himself if he were to enter sideways, that led deeper into the mountain range, away from the trails had been thoroughly inspecting thus far. Given their lack of substantial evidence to support habitation, it was a likely theory that this opening ought to lead him somewhere.

With each carefully taken step into the darkened passageway between the two mountains, a feeling of dread washed over Celice. It was a feeling akin to what he had felt when Shanan had finally told him that he was not his father, and that his real father had been a hero – Shanan's hero most of all – who had fought bravely for what he believed in, only to be stabbed in the back by those whom he had thought to be his allies and granted an unfortunately cruel death by the would-be Emperor Alvis. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into something all too similar to that; and if not that, than at the very least a scenario equally as terrible. The only positive thought to consider was that, blessed be whatever Gods actually existed, the feeling Celice had felt when he fought the Lopt priest was not present.

"Ah, there he is, boys. Grab 'im!" Before Celice could figure out where they were, or even who they were, he was backing up while exchanging blows with three axes at once. Their swings were slow and clumsy, and such a style had the added effect of the bandits – or at least Celice figured they were bandits; his focus was so occupied by the axes and his own survival that he'd had not a second to look – stumbling over one another in their heated efforts to overpower him. This made the first relatively easy to dispatch, catching him in the back when he stumbled forward after tripping over the leg of another. He uttered a scream so loud it tore at Celice's eardrums as he fell, and only after the fact did Celice realize his swing had torn at the bandit's bare spine, and broken bone was sticking through his skin in several places around the general area where he had been struck. Celice cringed in near-sympathy, but could not find it in him to show remorse for the man.

"An opening!" one of them cackled, and Celice had only a moment to brace himself before a poorly aimed axe swing resulted in an axe clashing with his sword in a way that was most awkward for him, and the effect revealed itself as he was almost effortlessly tossed back by a small exertion of energy. His legs buckled as his feet tripped over the sudden incline of the nearby mountainside, forcing him onto his back and looking up at the two very dirty and obviously bandit-like men looming over him, grinning like idiots with their axes ready to swing. He had hardly a moment to roll to the side before both axes hit the mountainside where he had been, but the effort of rolling – and the rocks digging into his skin the entire way – exhausted him more than he would have liked. Perhaps he had been a bit bold to tackle a challenge such as this when he was such a novice swordsman – at the very least, novice by comparison to Oifaye and Shanan – and was now suffering for it, but he would not allow such a thing to hold him back. He made a promise, and Chalphys, as Oifaye had taught him, never broke promises, among other things. They also never showed contempt for any undeserving of it, which may have been a reason behind Celice's overwhelming amount of trust, but that was irrelevant at the moment.

When he sprung to his feet once again, he was immediately forced into a repeat effort of staving off multiple axe swings at once, and the fact that he was contending with two axes instead of three didn't help him as much as he would have liked. Bringing his sword to the left, then the right, then to block his chest repeatedly – and often not in that order – had his arms aching again in seconds, with every block jarring his arms and making his hold on his sword waver every time. Sheer determination kept his hands in place, knuckles white from the strain being placed upon them and fingers on the verge of bleeding from the tight grip on his sword. While he blocked, he wracked his brain for something, anything, that Shanan had taught him. Something that may be able to help...

And then it hit him. By all technicalities he had never been taught the technique, but Shanan, Lakche and Skasaha knew it and he had seen it performed so many times he was confident he could at least replicate it to some degree of success. Focusing solely on his sword and his hands gripping it, he suddenly surged forward with one swift step, bringing his sword and around to swing at the right arm of one of the bandits. The attack was blocked but he remained undaunted, bringing his sword down and around, this time swinging at the same bandit's neck – it hit home, and the unfortunate bandit was left headless and, by extension, lifeless. The next swing too was blocked relatively easily, him having continued in the same swing to strike at the other bandit's head. And then it was over in the blink of an eye, one swing from his right hip toward his left shoulder that cut off the bandit's hand and left him weaponless, then turning his sword in mid-swing and cutting off his head as well.

"Haha!" Another harsh voice laughed, followed by an overly dramatic round of applause that drew Celice's attention once again to the far side of the passageway. A man – clearly a bandit, though the ragged cloth used to cover his loins was clean and a shirt several sizes too small clung to his muscled flesh – with red eyes, one of which was blackened, and long black hair not that much unlike Shanan's was standing there now, holding two axes. In one hand was an axe forged of iron, much like the ones Celice had been contending with thus far, save for the evident lack of rust and the slight shimmer of sunlight off of it. In his other hand was an axe considerably smaller, with a handle only half the size and a blade that could cut with ease from either side. Judging by the ease with which the man flipped it into the air and caught it, the axe had been designed as a projectile.

"Fer a noble, kid, you've got quite tha arm," he cackled, tossing the smaller axe into the air and catching it again. "Only the best of Isaac's warriors have been able to use that technique. No other has been able to handle it. But I've fought dozens like you, with that sort of arm. To the Great Beast Doza, that sorta speed is nothin'. So don' go thinkin' yer special, got it?"

"What have you done with Julia?" Celice demanded with a sneer, shifting his feet slightly in order to defend properly should the man suddenly attack. It didn't seem likely, though, both the chances of Doza suddenly attacking or him being able to fend off the feral sort of attacks he appeared to be capable of.

"Tha girl?" Doza countered, laughing harshly yet again, taking a few steps forward into the narrow pass. His shoulders were more broad than any Celice had seen before, exceeding even those of a knight in full armor, and he almost seemed as though he took up the entire width of the pass. Behind him three bandits fell into step, silent save for the soft laughter joining in chorus with Doza's. When Doza stopped only a few paces away from Celice, he continued, "She's fine, right now. Much as I'd like ta have my way with 'er, she's worth far more with her 'purity,'" he said the word as though it were something disgusting, like a bug upon his food or something similarly disturbing, "intact. Whoever gets their hands on 'er is gonna be one lucky son of a..."

"That won't happen," Celice seethed, his blood boiling simply from the thought of it. He'd always had a strong sense of justice, or at least he thought, but never had he been so easily angered before. As far as he knew his ability to control his temper was rather strong, at any rate. "I will kill you and save her before you have the chance. Julia will be coming back with me."

"Is that so?" Doza shot back, suddenly more serious than Celice had expected to be possible of him, seemingly laid back as he was. "I've not eaten in two days, boy. Spout your chivalrous nonsense all you like, but fairness is on my side. And if it means bein' unfair to a dame or two, well, tha's just how life is."

"If it's compensation you need, I can help," Celice replied softly but heatedly, lowering his arm ever so slightly, yet remaining aware all the while – he knew better than to trust bandits. "Lay down your arms, and I can find you compensation to live by. You don't need to resort to banditry to live just because the Empire has strained the country of it's money."

"Hah!" Doza snorted, humorously laughing again in an instant that belied his serious expression. "Banditry to live? Boy, I live like this because it is how I wanna live. Causin' havoc, burnin' thins to tha ground... Ya think we do it 'cause we have ta? Boy, it's fun to watch them poor people squirm! Their cries, their screams... that's our reward! It don't pay well, or at all, but it's fun!"

"That's awful!" Celice cried, more angry with himself for allowing himself to be drawn in by a brief show of humanity than anything. "But if that is the case, I need not show the likes of you mercy?"

"Mercy? Boy, yer up against all 'o us by yer lonesome! No man is that stupid." Doza gestured with a wave of his hand over his shoulder, and the three behind him charged at Celice at once. Celice felt himself drawing from an anger-induced energy he hadn't known he had, and before he could even figure out what had happened, he had driven his sword through one of them and using the body to keep the other two from reaching him for the scant seconds needed to pry his sword out of the man's chest. Before the other two could climb over their comrade, Celice had ducked low – which was more out of a desperate need to grant his body a brief bit of rest than he would have liked – to the ground and swung, tripping them back while they climbed over the sprawled out body before them. One hit his head against a rock and died instantly while the other, letting the first break his fall, groaned in pain when his leg twisted unpleasantly to the side. Celice drove his sword into his chest and ended his life before the thought of standing again could even enter his mind.

"I will not yield and I will not die. Great Beast Doza, if you too will not yield, then I will kill you and save Julia." Celice took several strong strides forward, over the piling bodies around him and toward Doza. Splashes of blood covered his boots as he walked through the pooling, thick mess below him, having formed several large puddles beneath the bodies to which they belonged.

Doza nodded mutely, moderately – or at least Celice hoped so – surprised that Celice had made such a bold statement. He held up his hand again, this time halting the movement of bandits behind him, and strode forth to meet Celice himself. "Just 'cause you've got an Isaacian's arm don't mean yer invincible, boy. Remember that."

Celice nodded, making sure he kept his face unreadable in an effort to hide the nervousness he could still feel in his heart. "Remember that you are up against more than an Isaacian warrior; you face the descendant of Crusader Baldo, Celice Baldos Chalphy."

"Crusader's blood, eh?" Dazo barked disdainfully, sneering as he continued to near Celice. Reflexively, Celice narrowed his own eyes in kind and prepared himself to either attack or be attacked. "The days of yer kind rulin' over us 'ave faded, boy! The Dark God'll be back before long, and ya know what happens then? Ya Crusaders'll be finished! He'll kill the lot 'o ya, an' make dis place his plaything again!"

"We won't allow it!" Celice cried, charging at Doza before he even had the good sense to consider what he was doing. Predictably, even to himself, his swings were blocked as effortlessly as if Doza were fighting him with a lance, with such a speed that seemed nearly impossible to Celice. Not nearly as fast as his own swings, no, but exceptionally fast in their own right, given the considerably heavier weight of axes.

"Won't allow it?" Doza asked, more amused than anything by the statement. "Boy, it has already come to pass! An' you wanna know what happens when tha Dark God returns?" He brought his axe up as Celice swung, bringing it around and effortlessly slamming the back of the larger one into Celice's ribs, cracking them as he was sent flying painfully into the mountainside. Already he could feel the bones screaming in protest of his movements, and the pain exploding from his ribs was excruciating as he brought his sword up to narrowly save himself from having his head removed by the smaller, dual edged axe.

"There is still time!" Celice shouted, ignoring the burning sensation from his cracked ribs and throwing himself to his feet. The right side of his body immediately buckled and he fell to the side a little bit, though he was able to right himself in time to block a viciously powerful axe swing that jarred his shoulder agonizingly. Even as his shoulder nearly tore itself apart from the jarring strain being placed upon it Celice held strong, exchanging blows until he found an opening; it was hard to see, but when Dazo brought his arm back up after a swing, Celice detected a small instant where he could strike at Dazo's shoulder without worry of it being parried by either axe. Seizing upon it, Celice drove his sword into the shoulder of Dazo's left arm, and as Dazo cried out in pain the smaller of his axes fell to the ground, bouncing noisily toward Celice's feet. "So long as we can fight, we will! Run to Prince Julius if it will please you so, but know that I will chase you every step!"

Dazo fell to one knee clutching his profusely bleeding shoulder, the grinding of his teeth filling the silence Celice suspected would otherwise have been filled by his agonized groans, cries or a mixture of the two. His larger axe dug itself into the ground from the strain being placed upon it as Dazo fought to remain upright, the wood of it's handle splintering to the sides and undoubtedly causing no small amount of pain to Dazo's hand. "Run to tha Prince? Are ya daft?" Dazo cackled in spite of his pain, pulling himself slowly to his feet and righting his axe on his shoulder. "Despot or not, he's tha nobility, ya fool, just like His Majesty. Runnin' to them would be like feedin' myself to tha wolves."

"... Boss!" One of the bandits behind Dazo cried suddenly. Celice could not see the man, but he could hear the panic in his voice. Which was for good reason, as a few moments later a wave of silver hair came into view as Julia slowly backed away from four advancing bandits. In his haste Celice ignored Doza entirely, something he otherwise would have realized to be a bad idea. But as it stood, that selfish compulsion to protect Julia at the expense of his safety overtook his senses again, and before he could truly consider what he was doing he had taken a stance between the bandits and Julia, leaving Dazo behind him still on one knee and Julia clinging closely to his back.

"Lord Celice, can we escape?" Julia asked quietly, her voice muffled from being pressed up against his back. Celice tried not to think about that overmuch; when had such thoughts ever taken priority over a composed mind that was required in such dire situations as the one he found himself in now?

"It doesn't look like it," Celice whispered over his shoulder, otherwise making sure none of the bandits in front of him left his eyesight. He reached into his breastplate and pulled out the tome he had stashed within – he had come to the obvious revelation that this was a wise course of action sometime after he had found the difficulty that was trying to fight with it in hand – and handed it back to Julia, who took it wordlessly and nodded. "You can use it, right?"

"I think so, Lord Celice," Julia replied softly. She muttered several things – presumably from the tome itself – under her breath and pointed at one of the bandits, keeping the tome tight against her chest with her free arm. At first nothing happened, which would have perplexed Celice if he had even the least bit of magical knowledge whatsoever, but slowly her fingertip began to glow. It started out a dim red, hardly noticeable, but it quickly started to shine brighter and brighter until it's hues resembled that of blood. And then from nowhere the bandit she had pointed at cried out in agony, clutching his chest desperately as a similar light began to burst from it. As it finished, the light from within the bandit's chest formed a small red orb that came to Julia's finger and disappeared, right as the bandit slumped to the ground in a bloodless heap.

"What was that?" Celice hissed, vaguely aware that the other bandits had grown aware of the potential danger even in keeping their distance and were advancing on the two of them... quickly, at that. He sidestepped the first axe swing and swung upwards, righting his sword for a thrust through the bandit's chest. At the same time, Julia had turned and repeated the lethal technique on the other bandit, killing him just as quickly as she had the one before.

"A Rezire tome," Julia said dispassionately, examining the cover of the tome as though it were something foul. "It is a light magic that drains it's foes of their energy and gives it to me, but it is very difficult to use if my foe is too fast."

"A light tome?" Celice asked curiously, looking over his shoulder to check on the still recoiling Dazo, fighting against his damaged shoulder and what was surely increasingly agnozing pain coming from it. "I thought the only known light tome save for the Lightning tome was Empress Deirdre's Aura tome?"

"Levin told me the same thing, but long ago there was the Rezire tome as well." Julia ducked behind Celice and pointed her finger at another bandit as he struck out from the opening that was visible beyond the small pass, muttering the same chant under her breath and killing him instantly. "Rezire tomes stopped being made following the end of the Holy War; they were considered too powerful by comparison to other magics, dark magic included. I'm surprised there was one that could be found."

"That is neither here nor there," Celice said quickly, lest they fall into something resembling an in-depth discussion while their lives were in peril. That, if nothing else, would have Shanan in hysterics if he found out. And not laughing, Celice added dismally. "But we can benefit from that information," he added as an afterthought, "so long as we get out alive."

"That won't be happenin', kid," Dazo rasped, staggering as finally he pulled himself upright. His axe came up to his shoulder – he appeared to be ignoring his smaller one in favor of simply the one axe, which Celice suspected boded ill for him when Doza's reflexes had already been so strong – and he shrugged his arm experimentally, as if to test the pain from doing so. Celice noticed him wince slightly, but otherwise he didn't seem bothered by the damage Celice had done to his shoulder. And that, above all else, bothered Celice more than anything else. What man could possibly ignore such a hit, after all?

But as could be expected, though Celice didn't like it one bit, there was hardly any time to consider such things, as in an instant Dazo had charged at him, forcing him once again onto the defensive. Julia cried out in surprise as she was forced to duck to the side, crouching into a small alcove formed from an opening between two mountains where, much like how the pass itself had come to be, time had eroded the rock. Which was a wise decision on her part, as Celice wasn't confident he could control his movements very well at the moment. His body and arms were flying this way and that as he was forced to make increasingly painful manoeuvres to keep Dazo's large axe from scoring a direct hit. And, again, the familiar sensation of mind numbing jarring to his own shoulders was there, and with a vengeance.

"Julia, watch for the others!" Celice cried desperately, looking over his shoulder in spite of his words. This action, quick as it was, provided more than an adequite opening for Dazo, who swung his axe swiftly at Celice's ungaurded left ribcage, smashing the new set of ribs loudly against his axe. Celice screamed and fell to one knee much as Dazo had before, clutching his newly damaged ribs tightly. For all his newfound experience fighting, he was most definitely not used to... _that_. It would be a long while before Celice dared expose his ribs again – after they were healed this time, that is.

"Lord Celice!" Julia cried, moving to run to his side from the corner of his eye. Celice quickly held up a hand to halt her effort, easing himself to his feet slowly.

"Watch my back, Julia," he said quietly, not trusting his voice to mask the agonizing pain he was feeling if he were to talk any louder. "You can worry about me later. If I get attacked from behind now, though, it's all over."

Julia seemed to consider this for a long while, and for good reason; at least, Celice's good sense said so. The same good sense that wanted him to run to her and beg her to heal his aching ribs, to cry profusely until she gave in as he had with Aideen whenever training had gotten too rough and he needed healing. But Celice was not week as he was back then, and he reminded himself of that fact. He was not the little kid everybody looked out for; he was Celice Baldos Chalphy, son of Sigurd the Hero and Heir to both the Dutchy of Chalphy and the Dutchy of Barhara, by extension making him King Azmur's true successor. It was a long-winded and overstated title, but Celice took great pride in who he was. And who his father had been as well, even if his father had been known to make a selfishly unwise decision or two in his time.

After all, Celice noted, he seemed to be succeeding his father in that regard as well.

Slowly, Celice once again turned toward Dazo, scanning the man's body for any extensive wounds while he worked on putting up a sufficiently indifferent facade that masked his own pain. The shoulder wound Dazo had sustained, though the way his body moved wouldn't suggest it, had vastly limited movement on the right side of his body. It took very little effort for Celice to notice this, as all he had to do was watch as Dazo tried to readjust his axe, and was forced to move his leg in order to move his axe to his satisfaction. Celice knew immediately what needed to be done, and without any more pleasantries he struck. He groaned as he tucked his body together and dodged Dazo's savage horizontal swing before lunging and piercing Dazo at his right ribcage, feeling at least one crack painfully before his sword. Judging by the immediate pain etched into Dazo's face however, it was safe to say that there had been more than one rib.

"Yer better than I gave ya credit for, boy," Dazo grunted, his voice broken by occasional winces of pain and interrupted by long gulps of breath. "But don' go thinkin' that yer strong enough ta beat me! What're a few cracked bones ta the Great Beast Doza? Ya can't go thinkin' that just 'cause ya hurt me that ya've beat me, okay?!"

Celice nodded slowly, putting on a convincing show of taking Dazo's words to heart. Then he lunged again, moving around to Dazo's right side. When Dazo went to block the incoming sword swing, he screamed out in pain and clutched his shoulder, inadvertently losing the tips of his fore and middle fingers when Celice's sword connected with his upper arm, also forming a large gash in the flesh from which a new flood of blood began to flow. The ground around Dazo had long since been dyed red, and puddles of blood far too deep to be natural splashed with every slow movement of Dazo's legs. Unlikely as it seemed, though, Dazo, was still capable of remaining upright. And he hadn't even begun to go pale from blood loss. Perhaps his skills were a little bit exaggerated, but it was obvious his sheer willpower and determination to live was not. Even amongst the finest Celice had seen in King Dannan's forces, none had shown such a raw determination to survive. Was there more to Dazo than met the eye? Or was he simply such a zealous bandit that the dream of a utopia where he could run freely and pillage to his heart's content was so alluring that he refused to die before he witnessed it?

"Not even the Great Beast Dazo can prevent mortal injury," Celice quipped, taking a step back – which his ribs protested vehemently to, but he forced aside the pain to be dealt with later – and pointing his sword toward Dazo's throat. "Will you yield?"

"Tha Great Beast Dazo, yield?!" Dazo cried, throwing his arms up in outrage, though the rage immediately channeled toward himself as he screamed once again at his right arm's movement. "I will never yield to you! You, tha Prince Shanan, the whole lot 'o ya rebels! I'll not surrender to one of ya!"

Celice nodded mutely, striding forward until the tips of his feet were dipping into the large pool of blood beneath Doza. "Farewell, Great Beast Doza. As an Isaacian, you shall be remembered, bandit or not." And then he beheaded him.

* * *

Celice felt terrible for three days since. He and Julia had been spotted by Fee shortly after he had killed Doza, and together the three returned to Isaac Castle, where they had remained since. Despite the better wishes of most, Johan was insisting that they send messengers to negotiate his father's surrender. Surely, Johan had said, his father was sensible enough to know that he no longer had the strength to withstand the strength of the Liberation Army. But despite this, every day's messenger was given the same cryptic, bone chilling reply: "In this land of Gods and Men, the Gods will not kneel to the Men."

Celice himself, being one of few – Delmud, Julia and Oifaye being the only others – reasonable enough to grant King Dannan the least bit of leniency, was growing increasingly bothered by the King's obstinacy. Johan was right, after all. Moderately sized though they were, his Liberation Army had crushed all other resistance to their uprising in Isaac thus far, and the forces stationed at Rivough – a simple batallion under King Dannan's direct command – simply couldn't hope to withstand even a well planned siege. When this issue had been addressed in peace negotiations, however, word came a day later that King Dannan had begun using his troops in routine patrols to ensure that no civilians were trying to work with the Liberation Army from the inside, as they had at Ganeishire.

It didn't help that munitions and supplies were growing increasingly sparce for the Liberation Army with each passing day. The few supplies they accepted from the people as thanks for their salvation hardly helped feed such a swiftly growing army, and unless they conquered Rivough and seized the storehouses there they would surely starve before long. This above all was reason for Celice's annoyance; he may be reasonable, but Celice was not about to continue peace talks at the expense of his soldiers' lives. And the fact that the people in Rivough continued to suffer every day weighed heavily upon his mind too. Celice was torn, then, between his promise to allow Johan to talk sense into his fath and giving the order to surround and lay siege to Rivough, extinguishing what remained of Grandbell's influence on the country and also securing a strong position with which to continue their campaign.

After all, from Rivough it was a simple matter of seizing Darna and crossing the Yied Desert before they could advance on the Grandbell proper. Which was a far more difficult prospect than it first appeared to be, given the Lopt sect's influence on the Yied Desert and their hold on the Yied Shrine, but they were as prepared as they possibly could be for such a daunting task. But if King Dannan continued to be so obstinate and Johan continued to be so stubbornly optimistic, they would all die of empty stomachs long before an invasion of the Grandbell homeland became a relevant factor.

As dawn approached and the fourth day of being holed up in Isaac Castle reached them, Celice decided that enough was enough. This 'Gods and Men' idealism was clearly more important than good sense, and so it was both his duty and an obligation to his Isaacian honor to end King Dannan's life. Johan would likely object, but the fact remained that they simply could not afford – both for their sake and for that of the people – to bide their time any longer. And when it was put into consideration that other regions under Grandbell's rule suffered just as Isaac did, the matter was no longer one of fairness to Isaac but rather to all of Jugdral. And Jugdral could not afford them delaying.

And so, he addressed this matter at their war council that morning. Which seemed a reasonable enough course of action, in all honesty, because it was technically required of him. While he was Commander, he had no absolute authority on the grounds of it being Shanan's Liberation Army, and thus he felt he needed to make his thoughts known before he acted upon them, regardless of whether or not they were the better course of action. But good intent does not always bring about good rewards, or even good responses, and this was a lesson Celice learned the hard way.

"Attack Rivough?!" Johan cried, slamming his hands against the polished surface of the long table that occupied the center of the castle's banquet hall – hardly an ideal location for such meetings, but with some work it fit their purposes perfectly. "What about the peace negotiations? Would we just let them fall through?!"

"Peace is getting us nowhere," Celice retorted swiftly, and then gestured with his hand for an attendant to walk forth. A soldier dressed in full military regalia complete with the crest of Chalphy over his right breast and the crest of Barhara over his heart strode forward, carrying a large parchment that he layed delicately across the table for all to see. "This is our munitions and rations supply, as of last night. We have enough weapons to go around and we are not wanting for gold, but we are also not as well funded as could be desired for a long term conflict – so long as we don't get any bigger, we should be fine. As it stands, however, our threat is food."

"You have brought this up before, Your Highness!" Johan shot back heatedly. "But if I go myself, I am sure I can get my father to surrender! And we'll get all of that food without swinging a single blade!"

Rather than Celice, who desperately wanted to respond, it was Oifaye that said, "If you head the negotiations, we will find your head returned to us on the morrow."

Johan growled loudly, pacing back and forth for several seconds, and twice Celice saw his hand drift toward the handle of the axe at his side. "My father is more reasonable than that, Sir Oifaye. Surely I, his flesh and blood, can talk sense into him."

"With all due respect, Sir Johan," Oifaye said, unnecessarily stressing his recently acquired title as though it were some sense of obligation – which it was, of couse, and Oifaye was taking advantage of that. "With all due respect, King Dannan is not more reasonable than that. You stopped being his son the moment word of your defection reached his ears."

Johan stopped pacing suddenly, looking wide-eyed and more than a little frightened in Oifaye's direction. "... Is that right?" he asked tentatively. His voice was even save for the small crack in it at the end, and Celice saw a tiny tear slip out against Johan's will. "That's just how the Grandbell Empire is though, right?"

Oifaye nodded, looking distantly toward the wall across from him. Celice was about to question him on the unnervingly strange look in his eyes, but Oifaye spoke before he could, "Yes, that is what Emperor Alvis has turned Grandbell into. It has always been his nature to discard what he feels he has to if it furthers his goals."

"The ends justify the means," Celice stated, smiling wryly.

"Exactly," Oifaye agreed with a nod. "Take the Dutchy of Velthomer for example. With Duke Alvis' ascent to the throne, it was left without a Duke and, for all intents and purposes, absorbed by the Dutchy of Barhara. To solidify this, Alvis banished his own son, whom otherwise would have been named the Dutchy's new Duke, from the country. I cannot say I know what it is Emperor Alvis truly desires, but it seems he wants as much of Grandbell to be united under a solitary rule as possible. And with the exception of the mainland's Dutchies, he has done just that. All of Jugdral rests in his palm."

Celice cleared his throat, both out of a necessity to do so and to direct the discussion back to a suitable topic. "We can discuss this later. The question is, what do we do now?"

Oifaye glanced at Johan, then at Julia, and finally at Celice before speaking. "Your Highness, I believe you are correct. If we wait any longer, we are endangering ourselves and everyone else. We need to take the offensive and liberate Rivough."

"But...!" Johan quickly protested, stopping when Oifaye shot him a heated look. "... Fine. But, Lord Celice, may I lead the vanguard?"

"I was going to suggest the same," Celice agreed with a nod. "However, it will be your duty to direct our soldiers in the takeover of the city; I will be fighting King Dannan."

"But Lord Celice..."

"Even if he surrendered," Celice stressed, patting the hilt of his father's sword, "he is a corrupt man who agrees with Emperor Alvis' method. If we are to succeed, he cannot be left alive. And I would not have you have to face the guilt of killing your father, Sir Johan."

Johan laughed suddenly, as though he had come to a revelation nobody else quite understood – which was very possible, Celice added as an afterthought. "You know, Lord Celice, I never really thought about it before... but I wanted my dad dead as much as anyone else. Johalva and I, we... we never truly were his sons. We were at first, when we were babies, but the moment he got promoted to King of Isaac and began making the child hunts, he promoted us to important positions – I was only twelve when I was made Lord of Isaac – and expected us to follow his example. And when we didn't, he dealt with us as he would a disobeying subordinate rather than a son.

"What I am trying to say, Your Highness, is that while I will not fight my father... I want you to kill him. Not just for my sake, but for those who depend on us. And to avenge those we could not save."

Celice stared silently at Johan for many long seconds, both weighing the honesty of his friend's words and trying to comprehend the origin of this sudden maturity in the lovesick knight. But just when Celice came to the conclusion that Johan was more mature than he had been given credit for, he looked in Lakche's direction and gave her a very exaggerated thumbs up gesture while mouthing, "I will avenge your honor as well, my love." Celice paled and looked at Lakche, pleased to find her every bit as pale as he felt. But the flicker of a smile as she turned her head away from Johan was enough to confirm Celice's suspicions that the knight's exaggerated affections were not wholly one-sided. But the time to display such affections openly had not yet come; Johan had simply failed to realize that.

"Alright then," Celice finally said, nodding approvingly. "Johan, you will lead the van. When we reach the castle walls, see if you can convince a few of the guards to let you in – perhaps you have some influence as their King's son, though I doubt it. If that fails, regular siege tactics will work. Oifaye will be your aide, so he can help you." He then turned to Fee, who looked comically short by comparison to Skasaha on one side of her and Delmud on the other, and asked, "Can you fly Julia and I into the city? It's dangerous, but if they are distracted by the main army laying siege, I should be able to find Dannan without incident."

"Why Julia as well?" Fee and Oifaye asked as one.

Celice glanced in Julia's direction, only to find that she too was looking at him questioningly. He fought off the urge to look away as he felt in flush out of embarrassment, saying calmly, "After what happened in the Sophara Mountains, Julia will not leave my sight until Levin returns." He fought off the urge to add that he didn't that to change even after Levin returned.

"If Lord Celice wishes it, I will gladly accompany him," Julia agreed, smiling far more jubilantly than Celice remembered. The only smile he'd seen that dared rival the smile she was giving him now was the one of absolute gratitude when finally they had returned to Isaac Castle four days ago. That smile, though it held no underlying suggestion, made Celice feel something so unexplainable that the thought of the simple feeling perplexed him and filled him with an unconditional joy at once. Maybe his father had felt the same way when he had passed through the Spirit Forest all those years ago.

* * *

Gods... and Men. Those three words circulated through Celice's head continuously. He had woken up considering the meaning of those words, he had bathed and dressed thinking over them, and even as the army prepared to sortie and he departed with Julia and Fee, he thought about it. Just what did King Dannan mean by that? What made him a God, and what made Celice a Man? It should have been so easy to figure out, Celice thought, even though he could not find any bit of sense in those words. Was it a matter a religion, where Dannan – a sympathizer of the Lopt sect – was a God to Celice, a sympathizer of the Blagi sect? Or was it a matter of simple superiority where Dannan, in all of his infuriating arrogance, thought himself to be Celice's superior many times over?

"Ahh..." Fee whined again, looking down toward the streets of Rivough as she again failed to find a good place to land. Behind her Celice had his arms wrapped around her sides, gripping at the same reins she was holding. And behind him was Julia, with her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her face pressed into his back – there simply wasn't enough room to sit any other way, and Celice was ashamed to find he preferred it as it was.

Below, everything was a mass of chaos and confusion. Against all odds Johan had convinced his way into the city, and the swordsmen and axe knights of the Liberation Army were pouring in and occupying every road they came across. Just about every building was tightly locked down as people hid from the raging conflict, and the few knights King Dannan had at his disposal were hastening to find defensible positions against the momentum-filled charge of Johan's warriors. They were too high up for him to accurately say with certainty, but Celice could have sworn he saw Lester, mop of thick blue hair and all, valiantly riding at the head of a squadron of mounted swordsmen and loosing arrows into the unprotected faces of several axemen somewhere along the main road.

"Can't we just land on the main road? I can go from there," Celice asked impatiently. The nausea of being so high up, despite it being his second time flying, was beginning to eat away at his stomach, and he desperately wanted to feel solid ground beneath his feet once again. But more than anything he wanted to bring an end to King Dannan's reign over Isaac, and being stuck high in the sky was making the completion of such a task quite impossible.

"I can't tell if they have archers around," Fee responded with an unconcerned shrug of the shoulders that didn't annoy Celice as much as he would have liked, as was often the case when negative emotions were involved – the inherent good his father had bestowed upon him certainly was a double edged sword.. "Better safe than sorry, you know? Heh."

"I can help," Julia squeaked in a small voice, pressed as she was against Celice's back – deliciously so, the one part of Celice's mind that failed to retain the strictest composure noted. "If there are archers, I can take them out for you."

"And I will keep us covered when we land," Celice added, though he doubted it would be necessary to actually do so.

Fee nodded and, with an exaggerated squeal that was hardly fitting of the situation, spurred her pegasus into a sharp descent. The wind whipped at their faces as the spun toward the ground, moving at such a speed that Celice was certain until the last second that he'd be finding himself meeting an embarrassingly unfortunate end associated with pegasus and ground collisions. When Fee suddenly evened out their descent and touched down upon the road in a manner much like how a bird would steadily descend toward it's desired perch, Celice felt the wondrous sensation of air returning to his lungs and the tingling running through his entire body die down.

Slowly he fell from the pegasus' saddle, bringing Julia with him by way of one hand on her shoulder and his other arm around her waist. The two landed on the ground softly, aided only by the involuntary buckling of their knees that would have otherwise made the experience more painful than necessary. For Celice, with his still aching and not entirely healed ribs, it was still quite painful however. Far better than it had been last time he had dismounted a pegasus however, having had several shattered ribs at the time that took both Lana and Julia to heal, on top of a day in bed.

"Lord Celice, are you sure we should go alone?" Julia asked, shyly removing his arms from her body and walking forward several paces. "Levin told me that Emperor Alvis... that Emperor Alvis does not believe in incompetence. If somebody holds a high rank, it is because they are deserving of it."

"So you are afraid that King Dannan is too strong for us," Celice concluded, frowning as he joined Julia by her side. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her slightly before grabbing her other shoulder and turning her entirely to face him. "It is very possible that we are too weak, Julia. If the decision had been left to us, I'd have not dared to leave Tilnanogue until Shanan returned. But we are here now, and there is no turning back."

Julia stared at Celice with a slack jawed sort of awe, trying in vain to formulate words. Noticing this, Celice continued, "I promised Levin I would protect you. And I'll not promise you that I will live, Julia, but I will sooner die than let harm come to you. Alright?" She nodded dumbly, though Celice suspected she'd have protested that claim if she could muster the words to do so. "Good. So long as you believe in me, Julia, you need not fear. We will take him down, and save Isaac."

Finally Julia managed to find words, but the embarrassed flush to her cheeks told Celice all he really needed to know, he reasoned. "... Please be careful, Lord Celice," she requested softly, placing her hand in his as he began to lead the way down the now-deserted main road. If Lester had indeed been fighting on it – though there was no evidence that supported that thought – then it had been exceptionally brief, perhaps using the road in passing while trying to eliminate troops elsewhere.

In a fashion identical to his clash with Harold at Ganeishire, Celice found King Dannan barking orders to several soldiers from beneath a wide arch that led to an ornate palace, decorated excessively with many flags of Grandbell bearing the crest of Dozel in the foreground. King Dannan was dressed in a large suit of armor that covered most every part of his body, leaving only a few small openings in between plates and an obvious target in his unprotected head. His eyes were narrowed menacingly as he spoke, and every so often he would push his mid length brown hair over his ear in a holier than thou manner. Ironically befitting when his recent words were considered, Celice thought.

As soon as Dannan turned and his eyes met with Celice's, they widened in a mixture of pure fear and complete outrage. Before he'd even reached for his axe, Celice had released Julia's hand and charged, drawing his sword as he ran. When he was finally within striking distance of the large King, Dannan had but scant seconds to bring his axe up to block against Celice's sword. This forced them into a battle in which one tried to overpower the other, where it quickly became obvious that Dannan had the advantage in terms of physical strength, though that was hardly surprising. Celice was immediately forced to back off, assuming a defensive position by way of firmly planting his feet and holding his sword with both hands, diagonally across his body and ready to strike at any given moment. The underlying reason behind this position was that it allowed for the best possible movement that his ribs didn't protest to.

"You are..." Dannan murmured, sidestepping slowly in an effort to outmaneuvre Celice, though his every step was read and Celice likewise adjusted himself to face Dannan. "You're him, aren't you?"

Celice narrowed his eyes, taking a single step in Dannan's direction; Dannan did the same From the corner of his eye, Celice noted that Julia was staying sufficiently far away, though close enough to help if it was required of her. "I am who?" he seethed, unwillingly tightening his grasp on his sword. "The Imposter Prince? The Prince of Light? Or," Celice's voice turned neutral in an instant, thanks to some carefully used composure, "am I the son of your father's murderer?"

"The son of Sigurd the Traitor ---"

"--- Sigurd the Hero!" Celice vehemently corrected, dashing once again at Dannan.

"I will avenge my father!" Dannan cried in kind, throwing his axe up to block Celice's sword again. Undetered, Celice ducked away amd swung his sword in from the other side, only to have it collide harmlessly with the thickly armored side of Dannan's body, where otherwise his ribs would be snapping from the sheer force of Celice's swings. Instead, all Celice got for his efforts was a painful jarring sensation in both arms.

When they clashed again it was more forceful, more intense, and there was no pretense of an actual battle taking place. Rather, it was a battle on a more subconscious level; a battle to simply and utterly overpower the other and deal to him the death each thought the other to be deserving of. Celice frantically swung his sword as axe swings came at him with even greater speed than what Doza had been capable of, and his only solace was in the fact that his ribs had either stopped aching out of respect for the rest of his aching body, or simply gone numb from the strain placed upon them.

"Your father's vengeance shall not be had!" Celice cried, pulling back only for a split second before striking again, this time with so much force that Dannan was forced to dig in his heels in order to avoid being pushed back by the blow. "Too many have suffered under your rule," Celice continued, hissing out the words as he continued to fight against Dannan's firm defense. Curse the man for being a descendant of Neir and having such perfect defenses. "And for them, for my father!" Celice stepped to the side and struck again, coming within inches of Dannan's neckline before he barely managed to block it. "For everyone your family has hurt, I will see you dead!"

"You? See me dead?" Dannan laughed harshly despite the situation, easily pulling away from Celice's sword and letting it bounce harmlessly off of his breastplate. The sword recoiled as if it had touched fire, similarly to how his hand would have if it had touched fire. "I am a God! A God being killed by a Man?! You are quite the fool to believe that to be possible!"

"A God?" Celice asked disbelievingly, taking a few steps back. Dannan followed him, taking the offensive and swinging his axe at every remotely open chance he saw. Every time Celice followed his moves, blocking them with an ease rivaled only by the ease with which Dannan blocked his own attacks. "You are not a God, Dannan Neiran Dozel. You are a tyrant, a slave to Lopt's will and the lapdog of a despot Emperor."

"A lapdog!" Dannan barked in response. Celice took the opening created by Dannan's surprise to attack, slashing at his chest with all the force he could muster. At first the blow appeared to be as harmless as all assaults prior to it, but Celice's determination paid off as Dannan's breastplate slowly cracked and fell apart, revealing a beaten a bleeding chest. A large cut mirroring the one made into the breastplate extended from over his heart to his right set of ribs, bleeding profusely. Any ill intended words waiting on the tip of Dannan's tongue when suddenly he cried out, clutching his chest and breathing heavily. Celice should have known, but all the same he was surprised to see him have such a low tollerance for pain. It should have been predicted though, in hindsight, considering that Dannan had never once left Rivough even for the mundane bandit exterminations his army routinely performed in the early stages of their rule of Isaac.

As the King began to fall, gasping for breath all the while, he pulled off one last feat of bravery that surprised Celice even moreso. As his arm went with his body toward the ground he suddenly swung with frightening force, smashing through Celice's breastplate and embeding his axe in his chest. He finally crashed to the ground breathing his last breaths, and soon after Celice fell with him. In Celice's barely conscious state, he could hear Julia cry out and run toward him. He yearned to open his eyes beyond the lazy gaze that lingered on the ground in front of him, yearned to place a hand on Julia's arm and assure her that he was alright, but he could not. 'I will sooner die than let harm come to you,' he had said. And he had meant it then, and even more now. For that reason alone was he able to muster a smile, in spite of the terrible pain in his chest and the growing ache in his every limb.

* * *

When he woke up, he almost had a heart attack. Celice was not one to be easily surprised to such an extent unless it was in the heat of a moment, but what he saw looming over him deserved his surprise. Alvis – or an Alvis look-alike, minus a few decades – loomed over him, donning the white robes of a Blagi priest, with a golden band around his waist that kept it in place and golden embroidered cuffs.. His face was narrow like Alvis's had been in his youth and his eyes were narrowed even though there was nothing but an inherent kindness in their depths, but the most unmistakable feature was the shoulder length red hair that framed his face.

Standing behind the Alvis look-alike was Julia. Her eyes were rimmed red from what Celice could only fathom had been crying, and an immediate guilt for his lack of care washed over him. That brought back thoughts of the battle that had taken place, finally drawing him to the scar now mimicing the cut he had bestowed upon Dannan himself, except his own was much wider and even when sealed he could see the red of raw skin beneath it. Celice ran his finger along it, surprised – but not nearly as much as he was by the Alvis look-alike – to find that it didn't hurt in the slightest. If the Alvis look-alike before him was truly responsible, than it went without saying that he was the best healer Celice had ever met. And he had yet to actually meet the man, by all accounts.

"I am glad to see you are well," he said evenly. He sounded uncaring, detached, though Celice could tell that his tone of voice belied his actual happiness. Why he was happy was a question Celice didn't know, but he decided it must have been the simple satisfaction a Blagi priest took pride in when they successfully saved a life.

"... Who are you?" Celice asked, voicing the only entirely coherent thought in his mind. Save for his recollection of this man's uncanny resemblance to Emperor Alvis, of course, though he dared not voice that thought.

"I am the High Priest Cyas, head of all Blagi churches in the Thracian Penninsula, Your Highness."

Celice stared at the Alvis look-alike – or Cyas, apparently – for several seconds before nodding slowly. "Thank you for your help. But if you are from Thracia, what brings you here?"

Cyas shrugged lightly, turning his gaze toward Julia. He seemed to study her for a moment, which had the added effect of sparking an unfamiliar and completely unpleasant emotion within Celice that felt suspiciously like having a knife twisted in his gut, before turning back to Celice, now smiling crookedly. "The Lopt sect has taken over the Manster District as well, and so I travel in the hopes of helping those who resist them. So long as you direct your blade toward the Lopt sect, I shall be there to aid you – that is what the Crusader Blagi would want of his desciples, I think."

"Do the people of Thracia not need your help?" Celice continued, determined to get to the bottom of the underlying mystery beneat the priest. There was just something about his story that didn't sit right with Celice, even if Cyas had not said anything that could be misinterpreted or even be considered to be a stretch of any truths.

"I have already aided them as much as I can, Your Highness," Cyas responded, smiling knowingly... almost as if he knew exactly what Celice was trying to do. Celice paled at the thought of the priest being aware of his unfounded distrust, and even moreso being completely unconcerned by said distrust. "The fate of the land is in the hands of His Highness Prince Leaf, I fear. I have lent him my aid as both a friend and a foe, and the rest is up to him."

"You aided Prince Leaf?" Julia asked. "Did you see Levin there?"

Celice looked over at Julia quickly. "That's where Levin went?"

Cyas' expression, to the surprise and confusion of Celice, was a mask of confusion. "Levin? How could that be? I thought he was..."

Before he could continue that thought, the door to the small room flew open and Oifaye rushed in, followed closely by Delmud and Lester. "Your Highness, are you alright?"

Half of Celice wanted to ask why Oifaye was only now visiting him when he'd clearly been here for some time, but both his good sense and the logical side of him that wisely pointed out that with him incapacitated all of his duties fell on Oifaye kept him in check. With that thought in mind he managed a small smile for his guardian and second-in-command and nodding slightly. "Thank you, Oifaye. How is the situation?"

"Sir Johan has led his axe knights out to secure the area around Rivough, in case any remnants had taken up refuge in any nearby villages." He paused long enough to reach behind him, blindly searching for a parchment Delmud was holding out for him. He brought it to his face and scanned his eyes over it, speaking as he read, "Thanks to the storehouses here in Rivough, we have enough supplies to fund not only ourselves but also the hundreds of new recruits we've received as well. Unfortunately, much of these supplies are coming from the people, but after a long meeting we decided that it would be impolite of us to deny their requests to show gratitude. And we certainly need the help.

"Further, the facilities here have doubled our training effectiveness. The swordsmen of our army are easily on par with those of Grandbell, and many have even mastered horseback combat. The only problem is that King Dannan took the time to remove the weapons from the smiths and the horses from their stables, so much of our newly acquired funds were spent on armaments and steeds for our new recruits." Oifaye took a deep breath, finally looking at Cyas. He eyed the priest warily before placing a hand over his heart and bowing, saying, "Thank you, pilgrim, for saving His Highness."

"I was merely doing my duty as a desciple of the Crusader Blagi, Knight," Cyas said respectfully, though as his eyes similarly washed over Oifaye Celice noticed that they lingered longer than was possibly necessary on his face. "If I could have been of service to the Prince of Light, however, I feel I have done my duty ten times over. The Crusaders all look to His Highness as a beacon of hope for their battle against Loptousu, and that includes mine own deity.

"However, I feel I must take my leave. Silesia is in particular peril, with confidants of the royal family inciting rebellion against Grandbell at every opportunity. If I am not there for the wounded and the dying, I fear the country may soon fall into even greater peril. May our paths cross again, Knight Oifaye and Prince Celice."

As Cyas left, Julia immediately rushed forward and threw her arms around Celice's chest. Celice looked over her shoulder at Oifaye for support – support that would hopefully come in the form of saving him from an embarrassing situation, at that – but Oifaye just smiled, shrugged, and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like, "You're just like your father." Oifaye too turned to leave, taking a grinning Lester and a smirking Delmud with him, leaving Celice alone with a half-mobile body with a silver haired accessory. One that refused to let go, for that matter, with her face buried into his bare chest whispering various things, from apologies to declarations of he overbearing worry for him.

Celice had never felt more flustered in his life. But, to his greater shame, he found that he liked the feeling. Julia had been far from the first to show such care for him, but she had been the first to bring out such a reaction from him. Just how she did it was still a mystery to him, but Celice decided then that whatever it was, he appreciated her ability to bring it out in him. So he slowly reached his hand over from it's limp resting place at his side, running it though her hair repeatedly, fingers scraping along and massaging her scalp.

"I'm okay, Julia," Celice whispered, though his hand didn't stop it's movement through her hair. "I'm right here, alright?"

"I was so worried," Julia whispered back, probably not for the first time – Celice couldn't tell exactly what her incoherent whispers into his chest had been. "No matter how hard I tried, my magic wouldn't close the wound. You just kept bleeding and bleeding, and your skin was so pale... I'd thought you were already dead, Lord Celice!"

"Hey, hey," Celice laughed, pulling Julia up to meet his eyes. The close proximity between them was not unnoticed by Celice, and he was glad that he was able to ignore it. "Stop calling me 'Lord', okay? Everybody else here, they do it enough. To them, I am a Prince, no matter how much I try to get them to treat me otherwise. But to you, Julia, I'm your bodyguard, okay? With you, I'm just Celice. I'm not the Prince of Light, got it? When it is us, I am Celice, Julia's friend, right?"

"As endearing as that is, Celice, you are a Prince to all of us." Both Celice and Julia looked toward the doorway, where Levin was standing with a book in his hand and an emotionless smirk on his face. Like all of his gestures, there was no emotion behind it. "You did good work here, though. I didn't expect to see you at Rivough already."

"Prince Johan's defection helped," Celice noted, too weary to be surprised by Levin's sudden appearance.

"You are giving credit where it isn't due," Levin shot back. As he walked forward and took a seat at one of the chairs next to Celice's bed, Julia pulled away from him and took a seat before her surrogate father. "Even if Johan did help, it was you who knew how best to use what you have here. And now you have an army larger than any other liberation army to have risen since the Agustrian Central Force last year."

"They were formed from the children of many of the Cross Knights and from remnants of Agustria's army, though. Matching an army like that would be difficult," Celice protested with unnecessary defiance.

Levin shook his head disapprovingly. "You are trying to think like Grandbell does. The size of the army does not matter nearly as much as you think. Their army outnumbered even Grandbell's occupational forces in Agustria, but King Shagaal the Second was a poor commander, just like King Shagaal the First that your father killed was. That fact alone made their rebellion a failure, and led to their defeat in the Battle of the Orgahill Strait. Add to that the fact that you captured Ganeishire, which was considerably better defended than Madino was during the Agustrian Grand Rebellion, with nothing more than the small group of children Shanan had assembled, and do you really think it's possible that numbers are as important as you are thinking?"

"Didn't His Majesty also incite a rebellion amongst the nobility in Agustria, though?" Celice asked, perplexed as to the ease with which the rebellion had been quelled. "From what Shanan and Oifaye told me, the war in Agustria had been a stalemate along the Orgahill Strait for many months before Grandbell finally surrounded them and quelled the rebellion by using the Agustrian Channel to occupy the western side of Orgahill Island."

"And in response to that, King Shagaal incited the rebellion amongst the nobility that turned over half of the country against Grandbell," Levin continued with a nod. Next to him Julia fidgeted uncomfortably in place, clearly not liking the continued talking, or perhaps disliking the subject of talk itself. "They were correct. But even though the fighting continued long after King Shagaal's death at the Battle of the Orgahill Strait, Grandbell destroyed every effort to weaken their hold on the country."

Celice acknowledged Levin's words with a nod, lifting his legs and trying to work his way to his feet. It was a difficult thing to do, but he managed to get his feet planted on the floor without any real pain. Though when he went to stand, it was only Julia immediately rushing to his side and wrapping an arm around his torso that saved him from an unfortunate fall. "Thanks," he breathed, before locking eyes with Levin again. "How is the Yied Desert?"

"More dangerous than ever," Levin said grimly. "Fighting off Lopt priests while trying to cross the desert will invite disaster. We will need to find a way to draw them in and eliminate them on the grasslands surrounding Rivough."

Again Celice just nodded his acknowledgment before turning to Julia, extracting himself from her arms as he did so. "Will you be able to fight them? I mean, doesn't light magic have an advantage over their dark magics?"

"To an extent, yes," Julia agreed, though she sounded more solemn than Celice would have liked. Levin seemed to understand her aprehension however, giving her a sympathetic look, even if it was as devoid of emotion as his every gesture. "Dark magic has little effect against practitioners of light magic, though there are so few of us – only shamans and the best of sages even know how to use light magic – that our superiority over practitioners of dark magic is hardly a boon."

Levin added, picking up on the confused expression likely etched into Celice's features, "What she means is that, because Lopt priests outnumber practitioners of light magic so greatly, the Great Purging did little to help this fact, their advantage over dark magics is not enough to overcome the numerical disadvantage."

"How so?" Celice asked dumbly.

"Take for example our present situation," Levin said, as though the situation were something Celice should have understood perfectly – and it probably was. "As it stands, Julia is your only practitioner of light magic, and I doubt you will have the boon of finding another. In the Yied Desert alone there are many scores of Lopt priests; well over fifty, if not more at the Yied Shrine. While Julia could likely hold her own against a score of them, the sheer number of them renders her advantage over them moot."

Inspiration striking – though the inspiration could very easily have been misguided, spawned as it was by a random idea that made as little sense to him as it likely would to them – Celice asked what he thought to be a relatively obvious question. "What about Arthur, or Fee? Surely with the blood of Tordo, Fala or Holsety, they would have some resistance to magic, right?"

Levin showed only a brief flicker of surprise at Celice's observation before nodding solemnly, saying in the same expressionless tone he always used with Celice, the tone that could as easily have been talking about the important matters of overcoming the Lopt sect as it could have been discussing the weather, "Their command over the Crusader's bloodline isn't enough to make a difference. Arthur, being a descendant of Fala and Tordo, can use stronger magic because of it. But they do little to protect him from other magic, particularly dark magic, which is inherently stronger than any elemental magic.

"As for Holsety's bloodline, like Fee has, it grants her hightened reflexes, just as the sacred Holsety tome granted me." Levin glanced away briefly, as though he were considering something that required considerable thought – perhaps he was, but he just as easily could have been thinking about something of relative unimportance – and then sighed, shaking his head mournfully. "She may have a better chance of fighting Lopt priests, but that would be because she would have a better chance at avoiding being hit by their assaults, and not because she can fight off the assaults better. In fact, the only Crusader I know of who is capable of bestowing heightened magical defense upon those with their blood is Baldo, and even then it's only the resistance the Tyrfing grants to it's wielder that has any effect."

"So if I can get ahold of the Tyrfing, we would be able to fight on equal terms with the Lopt sect?" Celice asked, wondering just how a sword, sacred or not, could provide any exceptional protection against magic.

"If you could get Tyrfing, you would be capable of single-handedly capable of fighting the Lopt sect. Even if they could harm you, the damage would be minimal at most. And even Emperor Alvis' Falaflame tome, despite all of it's power, was incapable of dealing any tremendous damage to your father, and I have no doubt in my mind that your father would have been capable of overcoming him had it not been a surprise attack – this applies to you, as well, Celice."

* * *

That last scene dragged on longer than was probably necessary and still failed to reach the objective I had in mind for it from the beginning. But that's okay, I suppose, because it wasn't essential that it be done anyway.

A note to the wise (read: the people who have played FE5 and dare to call me on continuity), however: I do not claim to attempt a successful merging of the FE4/5 timelines. It will be explained over time which elements of each are integrated (notably, Cyas' relationship with Leaf, though as you can see their relationship reaches it's climax earlier than FE5 canon), but it should be pretty obvious as a whole. And to shoot down hopes in the bud, the only FE5 characters (save for Leaf, Nanna, Fin, and all of the others that are in FE4 canonically) who will be coming over to this story will be Cyas, August (purely due to his relationship with Levin), and Eyvel. The latter may seem odd, but I have good plans for her (at least I think so) that will make for interesting development, I hope. Unfortunately, this will not be relevent next chapter anyway, as next chapter's climax will be the fall of Melgen and Darna, where there will be some altercations with canon in that the fall of Darna will occur before the fall of Melgen.


	4. Chapter Three: Good? Evil?

As previously stated, this chapter will be ending off near the end of Chapter 7, but rather than ending with the fall of Melgen I have decided to leave that for next chapter, as otherwise the following chapter would be lacking for content. This isn't a problem, really, as the additional focus given to the Darna conflict makes this chapter plenty long on it's own.

Also, I do not own Fire Emblem or anything else in this story save for my own creative manipulation of the story itself. I do however own the sick mind that devised the pairing for this story, that you surely must have figured out by now. Blah blah blah.

* * *

Deserts. There wasn't much that could be said about them. They had sand, they were typically scorching hot – this may or may not have been a certainty with all deserts, Celice wasn't sure, but this desert in particular seemed to fit the description – and... they were deserts. It was one of those things that didn't require explanation, because simply saying 'desert' so aptly described the landscape that it required no further description. Of course, this desert was special in that it was crawling with priests who would kill anybody that dared try to cross it, but that had long since become part of the definition of 'Yied Desert', just as the sand and the heat had become part of the general 'desert'. And Celice officially hated deserts.

The worst part was, he hadn't even stepped foot on the desert! In fact, there was still a fair distance between him and the desert – namely, the expanse of grassland beyond Rivough. But the stale air carried on the wind, burning his lungs even from the safety of his quarters within the castle, and the scorching heat that came with it told him more than enough about what lay before him. And were he any less determined than he actually was, Celice decided he would have long since abandoned any plans of trying to cross the forsaken wasteland. But Shanan lay somewhere out there and, despite any fear of the desert, Celice was more determined than ever to reach Shanan's side. After all, the Liberation Army needed their leader, and as content as they appeared to be in allowing himself to lead them, Celice was not so unhonorable as to usurp Shanan's position, nor all of his hard work.

Across the room was another window, this one gazing out at the plains of Isaac that Celice had known to be home for so long. He gazed at the vast expanse of land longingly, brooding over the truth that he may never again see those wonderful plains, be able to enjoy the games and sports that he had spent his childhood indulging in once again. Beyond the desert; nay, beyond the troubles that lay ahead, there was to be a divide much like the one he now found himself upon. To one side would be Isaac, the place he knew to be home, the land where he had grown and matured into the man he was. On the other side would be Grandbell, the land his bloodline dictated to be his home, where he would find himself when it all ended, supposing of course he reached such a point. Grandbell had been home to his father, his grandfather and many others before them, and it was that truth that told him his home and where he belonged were two very different places.

"To think, I'll be where my father died before long..." Celice sighed, shaking his head briefly before hanging it. "I'll avenge you soon. I promise." Celice fingered the hilt of his father's sword fondly, thanking Levin once again in his mind for risking all he did in recovering the weapons his father had left behind. The prized silver sword King Azmur granted to his father, and the sword Sigurd himself had forged from Chalphy's best steel in his youth... they were both precious to Celice on a personal level rather than a materialistic one, though the fact that they were effective in doing what they did was not to be denied either. It was a shame the Tyrfing could not be recovered, but Celice was certain he would see the sword returned to his hand someday. After all, this wasn't the first time in the Crusaders' history that one of the descendants had been deprived of their family's sacred weapon, and each case before this had shown the weapons returned to their rightful wielders eventually. Celice simply prayed that in this case, 'eventually' wouldn't be too late in coming.

"Your father would not be pleased to hear that," Levin noted, edging his body toward the foot of Celice's bed. "Even to the bitter end, Sigurd didn't believe in letting the past dictate his actions. Even when he killed Duke Langbart and Prime Minister Reptor, he did so because they opposed his march toward the capital, not because they framed his father and himself, or because they – at the time – appeared to be central in Deirdre's disappearance."

Celice sighed, drawing his father's sword and swinging it from side to side, the air parting around the blade and making low whistles from the sharp contact. "I know, Levin... But my father did nothing but try to do the right thing. And he was cheated and murdered for it."

"Celice, I know," Levin barked, standing and advancing on the prince. "I was there, remember."

"Why did he have to die, though?!" Celice cried, spinning on his heel and swinging again, the tip of his sword coming within inches of and nearly shattering the window. "It's hard for me to think indifferently on the matter, Levin. If I knew why my father had died, perhaps... If Emperor Alvis answers for his crimes, perhaps then."

"Petty revenge will get you nowhere," Levin admonished, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whether they accept you or not, you are by all rights the heir to Grandbell's throne. As Deirdre's son, that is your birthright. Be that as it may, you must look beyond the petty emotions of revenge and anger you're letting control you. Emperor Alvis will atone eventually, but you must accept the reality that revenge is not to be your sole goal."

"We're so close, though... It's hard to believe that it took so little time," he sighed, "and we're already preparing to cross over into the Grandbell proper."

Levin sighed heavily, shaking his head, "There are more important matters than that, Celice. We cannot advance on Grandbell yet."

Celice did a double take, staring at Levin – his mouth was probably hanging open, as well – for several long seconds. "But if we take Darna, Velthomer is right before us, right? And then Barhara..."

"First of all, Celice," Levin said, glaring at him balefully; it made Celice feel more uncomfortable than he liked. "As strong as you are, marching straight into Grandbell like that will be impossible. Already they have amassed the Rotten Ritter and Grauen Ritter in Velthomer and are awaiting our attack. To attack such a strong position would destroy us."

"How did they prepare themselves so quickly?" Celice muttered, kicking the ground and looking toward the ceiling. His brilliant little plan of valor and revenge was torn apart rather abruptly, at least, so if there was any boon to be had it was that he could think more practically. But thinking more practically would mean... "We're marching toward Isaac, aren't we? What has happened there?"

"The Prince of Lenster, Leaf Faris Claus and his Liberation Army were decimated in a daring assault on Alster around the same time that you secured Ganeishire. As it stands, he and a remnant army of less than fifty are bravely defending Lenster Castle, but even with the help of Sir Fin he is on the verge of falling apart." Levin idly ran his index finger along the length of his arm, pondering things that Celice surely wouldn't have thought to ponder. "Apart from that, much of the empire's oppression roots itself in the Thracia Penninsula, and subjugating the area is a duty you must perform to fully secure the faith of the people. From there we can march through the Miletos District and retake Chalphy by way of the Miletos Channel, then attack the Grandbell proper from your father's home."

Celice nodded, swinging his sword one final time before returning it to it's sheath at his side. "We'll start by liberating the Yied Shrine. If nothing else, we need to get to Shanan. From there we should cross the desert toward the south, right? Take Darna and Melgen, and then move in on Alster and protect Lenster... Can Leaf hold out that long?"

"We should send Fee with her fliers by the skies to aid in their defense. That, at least, will protect them longer than they can manage on their own." He thought for another moment, and then nodded sadly. "Especially if Thracia's dragon knights are prowling the skies."

Celice ruffled his hair, letting the unkempt mess fall over his back and shoulders. He couldn't help but wonder if he truly was fit for the position he was in, now that he'd been put in a position where there seemed to be no right course of action. Should they send all of their forces in a blitz toward the Yied Shrine, take out the Lopt sect there and then move on to the Penninsula? Should they go ahead with sending Fee and her knights to Lenster and helping them hold out, weakening their own fighting strength in the process? Nothing struck Celice as the right move to make, when either way they were putting lives at greater risk. But was it better to leave Prince Leaf to fend for himself, or to hope that Shanan can escape the shrine on his own?

"Shanan was going to the shrine to recover the Balmung, remember," Levin continued, as though he knew exactly what sort of turmoil Celice's mind was in. "Even on his own, with the Balmung he will be able to hold out until we get there."

Nodding, Celice asked the only question he felt demanded an answer, "And what about Prince Leaf...?"

"If King Blume is dedicated to wiping out the last true remnants of Lenster's forces, he'll be sending a large force to wipe them out," Levin said dispassionately. "If we don't send aid, they would be able to hold out in a siege for three days, at most."

Celice groaned and began pacing, trying in vain to vent his growing frustration. Why, _why_ did things have to be so complicated? "Even with Fee's help, how much longer would they be able to hold out?"

"They have Sir Fin to lead their military," Levin stated, as if it made the situation a simple one. "Even with a tiny army, Sir Fin has the distinction of having been a high ranking officer in Prince Cuan's Lance Ritter and a hero of Sir Sigurd's forces. He, above all others in Lenster, is capable of holding back King Blume. Moreover, only the late Duke Leidrick, slain by Prince Leaf himself, has any actual talent as a general in the Freege forces in the Thracian Penninsula. The rest are reputable men with everything to gain from inheritance, but nothing of actual talent."

It took effort on his part, but Celice managed to refrain from asking the obvious question of why such was the case when King Dannan's subordinates had seemed at least moderately talented. Granted, the extent of their talent had been officers and generals who faced repeated defeats to a comparatively small band of children and militia, so Celice quickly made the wise decision to re-evaluate that statement. But even then, they'd had the sense to know how to command their men, though their ability to do so didn't extend beyond being able to organize them efficiently and keep them orderly. And if it could be presumed that King Blume's forces lacked even that sort of talent, Celice had to wonder why Lenster was in any danger at all. He asked Levin so.

"The Thracian Penninsula," Levin started, frowning, "is a strange place. Tactics that work in Isaac or Grandbell have no value there. It is a very mountainous region, particularly so in Thracia rather than the Manster District, and what little flatland the land yields is covered with thick forests. Much of the country's natural defense comes from the fact that only natives, like Sir Fin, know how best to make use of their troops in such terrain. This will prove true for us as well, so you would do well to ensure that we study the land carefully."

* * *

What Levin had said quickly proved to be something that didn't apply solely to the context in which it had been used. Celice wiped more sweat from his brow while he walked, trying to ignore the feeling of the sweat that coated the rest of his body pulling his clothes and subsequently his mail against him uncomfortably. He really hadn't anticipated the desert being as bad as it was, even with all of the preparation he'd had for it in the drifting humidity the wind brought in toward Rivough. But facing the desert head on had given him an opportunity to get a feel for it quickly enough, deciding how best to prepare their troops for the battle to come. This didn't help him at all in overcoming the growing desire to curl up under a rock and draw whatever comfort could be drawn from the shade and live his life from a canteen of water, to avoid the dreadful heat that sapped him of every ounce of strength he had mustered over their two days of rest at Rivough.

By comparison, Julia seemed downright jolly. A delicate frown obscured her otherwise flawless features – Celice would later duely note that he had considered her appearance to be 'flawless' – but she didn't appear to be the least bit bothered by the heat. In fact, it was almost as if the heat didn't even reach her. Celice suspected magic to be the root of such a blessing, though he couldn't bring himself to loathe his own ineptitude in the magical arts as a result.

"There is a lot of evil here, Lord Celice..." she murmured, obviously aware of the dark glare he sent her on account of her use of formality by the way she kept her eyes carefully away from his own. "It's unsettling."

"But Shanan is here," Celice shot back, looking up at the large walls that surrounded a large flight of stairs on the land far above them. "Even if it is dangerous, we need to save him. We need our leader."

Nothing else was said that morning. The first leg of their long journey through the most dangerous part of the Yied Desert was much underway, and everyone was far too tense to enjoy the comfort of casual conversation at that time. Even Celice, though he did his best to appear calm in spite of the murderous heat and his frayed nerves, couldn't keep his eyes from shifting from side to side every few seconds to look for enemy priests. They had already been locked down in battle with what could presumably have been the Lopt sect's assassins – the fact that they seemed to have gathered from all corners of the desert supported this theory – outside of Rivough, during which Celice had been forced to delegate much of his command to Oifaye and Delmud in order to effectively spearhead the assault. And while his plan had worked, with the priests bearing the weight of a severe disadvantage from their own exhaustion and their inability to get proper footing in the sand while Celice's troops wisely formed a line on the edge of the grasslands where they had better footing, it had been a vicious fight where only pure luck had kept them from suffering more than the half a dozen casualties they had suffered. Fighting one Lopt priest had been savage due to the sheer might of the forsaken magic, and fighting such a terror in great number was a task Celice never again wanted to face up to. Once, in this case, had been more than enough.

When the sun reached a point directly overhead and Celice brought the army to a halt to get some rest, and some much needed food, the spell of silence was instantly broken. People began rushing about while taking back large gulps of water and kindly offering it to those around them, and they talked as merrily as they could while they feasted on the scarce supplies Celice had been able to bring with them in their sudden march. The rest of the supply train was to rendezvous with them when they reached Darna Way, where they would be able to safely defend the supply convoys whilst simultaneously focusing on the foe before them. But even without considering the presence of the Lopt sect, trying to create supply routes to supply the army while crossing the Yied Desert was disastrous; more so than outfitting themselves with less than three days' worth of supplies, at any rate.

"Prince!" Arthur called over the din of ecstatically satisfied soldiers' conversings, ducking and weaving around several bodies as he ran with an enthusiasm that denied the sun's effect on the rest of them, inadvertently confirming Celice's magic-related suspicions. "Near the shrine, there's movement! Our scouts say that the Lopt bishop Kutozov has dispatched his priests to chase after somebody."

"Is it Shanan?" Celice asked immediately, glancing between the shrine and Arthur rapidly, entirely aware of how foolish he looked in doing so.

"It's hard to say," Arthur replied warily, though he followed Celice's gaze regardless. "We don't know anything about the situation other than that the guy they're chasing after isn't a fellow priest."

"Johan! Lester!" Celice called out, waiting but few seconds for the sound of swiftly moving hooves to fill his ears. Without waiting for them to reach his side, he said, "Take your squads and go help whoever it is being chased. Lester, take Lana with you – your enemies are more dark mages, and you'll need her help."

As Johan and Lester came into view, Lester immediately nodded and called out orders to his troops, while Johan rode toward the rear of their army's camp where his soldiers were enjoying food and drink while working on watching the road behind them. Within minutes the seventy-five soldiers that made up the two combined squadrons had assembled, bows strapped to their backs or either sword or axe at their side, mounted or on foot. Lana was seated on the back of Lester's saddle, arms wrapped lightly around his waist while she looked from side to side nervously. "Prince, is it okay for us to...?"

"Oifaye, Delmud and I will be right behind you," he said quickly, leaving whether or not she realized 'I' meant 'Julia and I' up in the air, mostly because he wasn't convinced he could keep his expressions neutral saying so any more than he could keep his thoughts from wandering to the surprisingly elegant beauty.

Appearing suddenly – and surprisingly so, Celice added – from a group of rigid but otherwise happily feasting soldiers, Levin moved to Celice's side and gave Lester and Johan a searching glance in turn. "If it is Shanan, and he has the Balmung, you will be safe if you can reach his side. If not, you get the escapee and retreat."

Celice quickly nodded his agreement, adding in turn, "Make sure the cavalry leads the way, as those up front will need to be the fastest in escaping."

While Lester nodded affirmatively immediately, Johan looked from his men to Levin and then finally to Celice, the effect of the frown marring his features ruined by the sweat drenching his brow. "We are leading the attack? My knights have next to no experience fighting Lopt's priests, and even less on such rugged terrain as this. As it is, we stand to lose far more than we stand to gain by letting my knights spearhead the attack."

"Nobody is suited to face them," Levin said pointedly, though it wasn't condescending as many of his words – perhaps unintentionally – were. "Our only hope of fighting so many with such a small force is if that is Shanan; the Balmung will allow him to face many of them by his lonesome."

"That many?" Johan gasped.

"Yes," Levin confirmed dispassionately. "The Balmung is a sword variant of my family's Holsety tome – the sort of speed and awareness it provides will make him nearly invincible."

Johan nodded, considering the words for a moment before asking, "Sort of like how my uncle's axe has made any weapon set against him shatter on contact with his armor?"

"Exactly like that," Levin muttered. "Only the holy weapons themselves are impervious to things like that, though even they are not invincible. In the event you ever face somebody with one, you would do well to remember that the Crusaders' descendants are not higher beings, nor are they any more man than you. Their blood gives them an insurmountable advantage, yes, but not even that can overcome raw skill."

"Unless it's Loputousu's blood," Johan pointed out dismally, as an afterthought.

"... Yes," Levin sighed, waving away Johan's concerns with his hand. "Believe in the strength of the axe your late uncle Lord Lex once used, the fabled hero axe, and you will do just fine. Now go."

Johan nodded, giving one last glance to Celice who nodded in kind before he turned, loosing a loud cry that his knights seemed to take as a strange translation for anything along the lines of, "Charge!" Lester did much the same thing despite his war cry being far more eloquent, and then both were billowing dust clouds in the distance as they tore across the land to perform the mundane and likely life threatening task placed before them. As Celice watched the clouds of dust grow ever smaller in the distance, he couldn't help asking, "Is that really Lord Lex's hero axe?"

"It's hard to say," Levin replied monotonously. "Few weapons have any distinguishing features to them. The crest of Chalphy on your hilt is an exception in this case, and Lord Lex's axe had no such distinction. But with how rare the metals used to make the 'hero' weapons is, it's a safe bet that it's the same axe. I would have to watch him fight to say for certain."

"Watch him fight?" Celice asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is there some way you can tell?"

"Though they don't feel like it, the hero weapons are considerably easier to wield than a normal weapon, holy weapons included." Levin looked over at Lakche, who had a hero sword strapped to her hip even while she ate. Next to her, Julia elegantly went about eating, taking the time to meet Levin's eyes and smile between bites of food. "For every time Johan could swing once with a regular axe, he could swing twice or even three times with a hero axe. The difference is tremendous, though not even the greatest of blacksmiths are certain how the metal creates this phenomenon."

Celice nodded, a thought occurring to him in the midst of doing so. "But didn't the Beigen Ritter use that same type of weapon? If so, how did Grandbell have such a vast quantity of it?"

"That is irrelevant," Levin pointed out, dropping the subject prematurely. "Rather than worrying about how they are made, it is better to consider the value in trying to use them for yourself, especially when the simple use of such a weapon could make our troops vastly superior to any the empire can set against you."

* * *

"Heheh, that place really was loaded..."

Celice watched from a distance as the many members of the Liberation Army, both old members and new ones, greeted Shanan as warmly as one would a long lost friend. The moment he had learned from scouts that Shanan had indeed been the one fleeing the shrine, Celice had broken camp and charged toward the shrine, guiding his troops so swiftly up the rocky plateau on which the shrine rested that his legs felt twice as heavy as they should have by the time they had reached the shrine. The shrine had already been occupied by then, and while Shanan was being properly introduced to the army that had been built around his humble workings, Celice and Levin had investigated the shrine's interior for any abnormalities or remaining priests.

Shanan himself had already gotten his fair share of recognition and thanks from Celice, of course. The first thing he had done upon reaching the shrine where he reunited with the frontlines was meet with Shanan, attempting to pass off leadership to it's rightful place. Shanan had humbly denied, much to Celice's dissatisfaction, saying that aside from the fact that Celice was the one who needed to head their rebellion there was also the fact that Celice had more than shown adequate leadership skills in being able to so swiftly reach and occupy the shrine. Oifaye had gone mutinous at this point, standing with his best friend rather than his charge in saying that the Liberation Army could not function were Celice to not be it's leader. And to top it all off, Julia had said that only Celice had the kindness and compassion needed to draw so many people to his side. And he had blushed when she said that! The moment he felt his cheeks heating up, Celice had felt more ashamed than he had in all his life.

Of everyone, only Levin had not taken the time to give a greeting to Shanan, despite Celice having tried numerous times to get him to do so. He thought it would have made sense after all, considering that Levin and Shanan had once been in the same army, despite the fact that Shanan was younger then than Celice was now. But Levin had angrily dismissed Celice's attempts, telling him that there were some things in his life he could never return to, though he could never tell Celice why. This rose several suspicions in Celice's mind, further suspected upon as he recalled Cyas' earlier words asking why Levin was alive. Perhaps Levin really had... died?

Their missing leader had come with an attachment that Celice was slightly suspicious of, a girl nearly a head and a half shorter than him who was presently trying to smoothly escape the welcoming group surrounding Shanan. According to Johan, when the troops dispatched under the former Isaacian Prince and Lester had recovered Prince Shanan, she had been with him, hiding in a corner while he danced around three Lopt priests at once, protecting her. She was dressed strangely, forgoing armor in favor of a tight fitting, yellow onepiece that had to have been designed with the intent for nobles wearing them, and a checkered blue and white cap that looked just as fancy, covering a mop of blond hair. This wouldn't have looked so odd if she at least looked like she fit the profile of a noble, but it was quite obvious by the look in her eyes – the wide-eyed, innocent and tormented eyes of a child scarred – and the sword at her side that she was not a noble. Or at the very least she wasn't a traditional noble, in the same regard that he himself was not a noble.

"Celice," Levin said under his breath, looking at him from the corner of his eye. "Did you see the childrens' writing on the walls in the shrine?"

Nodding slowly, Celice muttered, "They were like... prayers..."

"For the revival of the Dark God, Loputousu," Levin finished, frowning as he did so. "Those children, though their deity was different from our own, were no different than you or I are now."

"How so?" Celice asked, his curiosity inspiring him before his good sense could allow him to actually think before he spoke.

"Did you not ever wonder what had become of the Lopt sect that forced them to hide as they had, unlike the Blagi sect who openly practiced their rituals and spread their beliefs?" asked Levin; Celice shook his head. "They were prosecuted, indiscriminately. Burned at the stake, beheaded in the marketplaces, abused by even the surfs... It was a dark time for them. With nobody to turn to but their own deity, children prayed for the return of the Dark God Loputousu, wishing nothing but the end of their suffering and the return of what, to them, had been good times.

"So you see, Celice, it is not easy to fight simply by stating that we are good and they are evil. You will only make it harder on yourself later if you use such labels. They are our enemies, yes, and in this case they are in the wrong, but the fact remains that it had not always been that way."

Celice returned to watching the blond haired girl as she tried to escape from the festivities and frivolities now taking place, thinking on what Levin had said. It wasn't easy to understand, though, because as far as he saw it the empire was evil. There were the child hunts, the open acceptance of the Lopt sect, their ruthless tactics in crushing all attempts to restore the land to true peace... How could the empire have a shred of good in it considering that?

Granted, his father had served Grandbell... loyally at that, and not simply out of necessity as the son of Duke Chalphy. Until Alvis took the throne and tried successfully to turn Grandbell into a massive empire encompassing the entirety of Jugdral, Grandbell had been a nation just like Agustria, Silesia or Isaac. More aggressive perhaps, and in Isaac's case that statement was questionable, but otherwise there was nothing wrong with the kingdom. That being said, in seventeen short years, how much of Grandbell truly had changed? How many were Alvis' loyalists, evil to the core like he and his son, and how many were loyalists of the respective Dukedoms that comprised the Grandbell propper, all of whom had likely done no wrong other than loyally serving the empire? The thought of killing such an innocent made Celice ill. What if his foes to come, the many relatives that surrounded King Blume and his horde or Freege loyalists, were such people? What if Prince Ishtor or Princess Ishtar, unlikely though it was, were good people doing what they thought to be the right thing? Celice was not so narrow-minded as to think that they thought that he was in the right, which meant that regardless of their thoughts and ideals, they took him to be an enemy. Now he truly felt ill.

"Celice, keep an eye on her," Levin whispered harshly, pointing at the blond while she skipped toward an unsuspecting soldier. It took Celice a minute to figure out what she was doing, but as soon as he did he ran toward her, grabbing her wrist just before it reached the hilt of the soldier's sword.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he hissed, yanking her away from the soldier who, surprisingly, was unaware of the entire exchange.

"His sword is rusted," she replied, in a tone that suggested she had no idea that what she was doing could have so easily been misinterpreted. "I found a sword in the shrine that is too heavy for me to use, so I was going to give it to him."

As she held out the sword in question, Celice's eyes took it in both excitedly and longingly. It was a beautiful sword, of a craftsmanship far beyond anything he had ever seen, with a perfectly weighted hilt and a slim yet absolutely devastatingly powerful looking blade. Most importantly, it strongly resembled Lakche's hero sword, save for the fact that this one had a shorter blade and looked more suited for a straightforward style rather than a precise style utilized both by Lakche and by her mother, the blade's original wielder. It took Celice only a minute to realize that this was in fact a hero sword, unlikely though it was when he and Levin had been talking about such weapons not hours before.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, trying not to be too revealing in his interest of the sword. Ah, how lovely it would be to have a blade that was as much his as the sword at his side was his father's... Aside from the Tyrfing, of course, but that was a property of their family rather than any one of them in particular. In the way of sentimentality, the Tyrfing would never match up to the sword his father had brought down upon Grandbell's foes for the four years between his brave departure from Chalphy and his tragic return to Barhara.

"I found it in the treasury beneath the shrine, with Prince Shanan's sword," she replied easily, a clearly starstruck look in her eyes at the mention of his mentor. "I am Patty, by the way."

"A thief?" Celice asked, nodding his head toward a small bag that like it could hold little more than half a fortune's worth of gold in it – and it looked like it was holding nearly that much, as well – strapped to her right hip.

Patty shook her head, grasping the bag and shaking it. Rather than the expected sound of gold coins knocking against one another, the sound of a nearly inaudibly dull thudding reached his hears. "Food," she answered his unspoken question. "I'm not a thief by choice. But as an orphan, I try to provide for all of my fellow orphans. That involves finding the means to provide, and..."

"So in order to provide, you steal from those just as unfortunate as you?" he asked disbelievingly, moving to tear the bag from her side before she hastilly stopped him. "No matter what the reason, it is not right to steal. If you need it, I will give you some of my gold so that you may buy food for your friends. Or better, invite them to stay with us; even if they are not soldiers, and I would not dare ask that they do such a thing as take up arms for me, I will feed them."

Patty paled immediately at the suggestion, averting her eyes. "I would not ask such a thing of you. Besides, they... My friends are all the way in Agustria. Asking you to go all that way just for me is selfish."

Celice nodded, though he was genuinely disappointed in their inability to aid the orphans. All the same, Levin would have been angry beyond words were he to suggest a brazen journey through Silesia and overseas to Orgahill in order to liberate the disadvantageous Agustria. And there was the added issue of Leaf, as well... "I will make sure they are properly cared for when this is all over, Patty. Supposing you are coming with us?"

"Ah..." Patty muttered, evidently having had other things in mind previously. "Can I still steal? I only target Grandbell, and I will make sure to donate to you guys when I can, but... I wouldn't feel right not having kept my promise to help provide for the orphans."

"No," he replied in kind, unsurprisingly disgusted by the simple thought of such theft. "It doesn't matter how much we need it, I will not in good conscience allow you to steal to make ends meet. I will personally provide you with all you ask so that you may keep your promise, if it would please you, however."

"Celice, there is merit in what she is suggesting," Levin's voice drifted from behind, followed closely by the confident strides of his heavy feet against the rocky earth. "In Sigurd's army, thieving was as frowned upon as it surely is to you. But Deu contributed to much of our income just from what he stole from the soldiers we fought in our many battles. Looting Grandbell's treasuries and towns are out of the question, but targeting their garrisons and their soldiers is not unreasonable."

Celice remained adamant in his disapproval of such methods, though, and tried his best to be displeased with Levin for showing approval of it. "We are no better than they if we resort to such methods, Levin. This is all pointless if we cannot bring a lasting peace when the fighting is over."

Levin sneered at Celice from the corner of his eye, while the rest of his attention went to the sword still held in both of Patty's hands. "That sword is stolen, Celice. From the same people who took your mother from you as a baby. Is that wrong?"

Opening his mouth to immediately rebuke Levin for saying such a thing, he closed it again when he truly considered those words. The Lopt sect – Manfloy in specific – had been the cause of everything, an evil that transcended any evil that could possibly be committed, even by the worst of men, such as Emperor Alvis and Crown Prince Julius. Stealing from them was comparable to charity as far as Celice was concerned, but even so, it was stealing... But how could it be stealing if it was taking what the Lopt sect took from everybody else? But then, didn't the empire do the same thing?

Celice groaned, trying his best to make sense of the thoughts running through his head when in actuality there was no sense to be made. Stealing in this case was acceptable, whether he was willing to accept the fact or not, and they would most certainly benefit from Patty's ability to do so.

"... Good, then we will be counting on you from now on." Celice swiftly grew aware of the continued talking – negotiations? - that he had otherwise been unaware of, and suddenly the hero sword in Patty's hands was being pushed into his. "And if we find your brother, which I am sure we will," Levin continued, smoothly taking Celice's place in such casual conversation, "we will do our best to see Ulir's descendant on the right side in the Holy War to come."

* * *

Nighttime in the Yied Desert was much easier to deal with than daytime. When free of the scorching sun, with it's uncanny ability to make the expanse of desert far more unbearable than it made any other place beneath it's far reaching gaze, the Yied Desert was soothing and almost appealing to Celice. It was not cold, as many nights in Isaac had been. Rather, it was pleasant, like in the darkening hours in Isaac, where there was a cool chill accompanied by a comforting warmth. The combination of sensations was a forbidden love to Celice, one that he openly indulged in when opportunity presented itself. And present it did on that night, with tents pitched and naught but a campfire burning still. Everybody else had already retired on Levin's suggestion, the mysterious adviser having noted that tomorrow would be the day they finally broke through Darna Way, opening the path both to Darna and to Melgen, as well as the path they would have to traverse in their effort to relieve Lenster's knights and Fee's brave warriors, all of whom – according to Fee's latest messenger – fought still to resist King Blume's siege of Lenster with geurilla warfare and well made plans by Sir Fin himself.

Celice comfortably settled into the small sleeping bag he'd set out by the fire, turned on his side and watching the flames as they twisted and weaved around themselves. It was truly beautiful, in the midst of everything that was so comparatively dark and dreary around him, and he could hardly fathom the idea of sleeping when he could watch such a thing. A simple blaze in a warm fireplace had never captivated him in such a way before, or if it had the novelty of such a thing wore off, but he always found himself staring and staring at a strongly burning fire made from wood and other flammables, hours after he should have retired. His awareness on the morrow would suffer, but even knowing that he dare not lay back and allow his body it's rest. Why ought he do such a thing, after all? So long as the flames before him burned brightly, he could live forever on the fulfillment of seeing the flames rise and cackle and lace and burn alone. He had always loved fire, after all. Perhaps it was a subconscious thing, but had held an ironic place in his heart all his life – ironic in that it was the most volatile of flames that had taken his father's life.

"Tomorrow, we..." he sighed, not wanting to think about the coming battle with the first of several hostile Crusaders. King Blume, the successor to Crusader Tordo's magnificent legacy, waited for them not far away. How would they face him? Despite what Levin had said, they would need a vast amount of resources to overcome the power of King Blume's Torhammer without the added muscle of a Crusader's power on their own side. As it stood only Shanan contributed in such a way, and Celice felt uneasy about making such a request of the man whom really should have been giving him orders. But on the other hand, surely Shanan would have had no qualms asking anybody to face off against King Blume if he knew it was their only hope of overcoming him...

"Father, this was so easy for you!" he cried, sitting up fully simply to grasp his head in his hands. "Making decisions, asking others to risk themselves for my sake... How can I ask anyone to do such a thing when I cannot do the same for them?"

"Lord Celice?" His head snapped toward Levin's tent, where Julia was now poking her head out with lidded eyes, rubbing at one with the palm of her hand. "What's wrong?"

"Ah..." Celice gaped dumbly, momentarily speechless on account of the fact that he'd accidentally woken somebody – a certain somebody that had been the root of more than a few unfamiliar sensations, naturally. "Nothing, Julia. Go back to sleep." He was so out of it, in fact, that it didn't even cross his mind to reprimand her for her respectful and formal greeting.

"Why are you still awake?" she asked, ignoring him altogether as she pushed her way out of the tent and walked toward him.

"No matter how much we succeed, and no matter how strong we become," Celice sighed, lowering his head, "it's never enough. I can't in good conscience send men to their deaths, and the necessity to do so grows stronger with each passing day. For every ounce of strength we gain, our foes become that little bit stronger. Now we are face to face with one of the Crusaders' descendants, and our only hope is to risk the life of Shanan."

Julia sat on the ground next to his sleeping bag, picking up a nearby stick and poking at one of the burning logs at the base of the ever blazing fire in the center of their campsite. She looked thoughtful, an expression that looked somewhat strange on a face that so often looked dazed or dismayed, prodding at the log until it turned slightly, sending a plethora of small embers into the air. "He wouldn't be fighting if he wasn't prepared for that possibility, would he?" she said finally, looking at Celice from the corner of her eye while the rest of her focus remained on the fire in front of her.

"Even so..." Celice sighed again, laying back against the soft fabric of sleeping bag, keeping his upper back propped up by his elbows. "We will target Darna first. At best, we can find something there that will help us – it is the place that birthed the Crusaders, after all. At worst, we can secure a proper base to use to assault Melgen."

Julia turned to give him her full attention, regarding him with silent appraisal for several long seconds. "Is this okay?" she asked suddenly.

Celice raised an eyebrow, judging the meaning of her words before he asked, "Is what okay?"

"Levin told me something, long ago," she said, a surprising seriousness to her voice. "Sir Sigurd's charisma was a great help in drawing people to him, but in the end it was common goals, whatever those goals happened to be, that drew people to his side. Now you have the same thing, right? People who fight with you because they want the same thing, and you can give it to them. They are ready to die to see this through, and you're treating them as close friends who need to be protected."

Her intuition surprised Celice, but he didn't think it necessary to voice that thought. Though her words rang true in his mind, even if it was difficult to admit to, and the reality that lives would have to be risked to see this through could not be denied. That made it no easier to admit to, however; the thought of risking their lives, no matter what the reason, pained Celice. In truth, he was more than glad to face enemies that appeared far too powerful for him to overcome, because it meant those he cared for were not similarly risking their lives. And if he could, he would raise his sword high and bravely face King Blume, even if it meant certain death. But the army as a whole could not afford that. Conversely, they would still be able to, even if he disagreed, operate without Shanan.

They had up until now, after all.

When he didn't offer reply, at least not vocally, Julia stood up to leave. "We all have things we want, Lord Celice," she murmured, returning to the tent she shared with Levin.

* * *

Predictably, or at least Levin had said it as such, the Darna Way had been blocked off upon their arrival. It was a prime bottlenecking location, overlooking the fields and hills of the Manster District on one side and a cliffside on which rested Darna on the other. The only way to go was forward, blocked off by a large company of horsemen headed by two men; one helmeted, hiding his features, and one not. The one not hiding behind a helmet donned a full suit of black armor, seated atop a steed as black as the armor he wore. This fondness for black ended at the black band wrapped around his forehead, keeping his long, golden colored hair out of his face.

The most distinguishing feature about him was the sword in his hand, with a blade far larger than any Celice had previously seen, with a broad edge near the crossguard and getting progressively more narrow toward the tip, and a hidden strength to it that could not be ignored. It was no ordinary blade, whatever it was, and Celice couldn't help a shiver running down his spine as he stared at it. It reminded Celice of the first time he had seen Shanan's Balmung, and not just because the Balmung had that same strangely shaped crossguard.

"That blade," Levin murmured from beside him, displaying a mild level of shock that surprised Celice immensely. "That's Lord Eltshan's Mistoltin."

Celice gasped, narrowing his eyes at the blade. Sure enough, in the center of it's odd, wing-shaped crossguard was the crest of House Nodion, and now that he payed closer attention to the sword, he could see a faint glow emanating from the rider's hand. It was so faint that he was surprised he noticed it, but now that he was aware of it, it was clear as day to him. It was the darkened red of blood, almost as though blood were pouring from his hand, telling of the deathly strength in the sword he held.

"So that is Lord Eltshan's son?" Celice asked disbelievingly.

Levin nodded, having composed himself as quickly as one would expect of the emotionally deprived man. "Aless, Lady Lachesis' nephew and heir to the command of the fabled Cross Knights of Agustria. I knew he had been taken away by his mother following his father's death, but I lost track of him not long after the battle at Barhara. Until now, I believed him to be dead and the Hezul bloodline to be lost."

"Lost track of him? What do you ---"

"Celice Baldos Chalphy!" Aless cried, riding forward, ahead of the main line of cavalry assembled before them. "I am Aless, the black knight of Jabaro's Mercenaries!" He struck his arm out, pointing the Mistoltin toward the skies and shouted out an enraged battle cry that confirmed something Celice had secretly worried about for years – the misconception of the conflict between their respective fathers. "If you are not afraid of the holy Mistoltin, come face me!"

"Don't listen," Levin advised, resting his hand on Celice's shoulder. "As you are, you cannot hope to win against the Mistoltin. We'll call Shanan forward and ---"

"No," Celice whispered, placing his hand over the hilt of his recently acquired hero sword, resting where his father's personally crafted sword used to; the sword granted to his father by King Azmur still rested at his right hip. "I cannot hide, and we both know he will not settle for any foe but me. And even if I cannot win, refusing would make me a coward, and lower morale. We cannot allow anything that may risk our chances of overcoming this trial."

"If you fight him, he will kill you," Levin whispered harshly, gesturing to the Mistoltin still resting high in the air, held loosly in Aless' right hand.

Celice nodded, stepping forward. As he did so, the troops assembled around him gasped. "I know he will. I just have to convince him that our fathers weren't the bitter enemies he thinks they were before he does." He turned to one of Johan's axe knights, gesturing with a wave of his hand for the knight to dismount and give him his horse. He pulled himself into the saddle, grasping at the reins and trying to settle himself properly. Thankfully, Oifaye had trained him sufficiently in fighting horseback, even if he preferred to fight on foot.

He spurred the horse forward, keeping his eyes locked on Aless' all the while. "I am Prince Celice Baldos Chalphy, and I accept your challenge!" he called, pulling his hero sword from it's sheath. The thin blade looked almost pitiful compared to the Mistoltin, and he hoped it would be more durable than looks made it out to be. As much as he knew the folly in judging a sword by it's appearance alone, it couldn't be denied that his sword looked like a small piece of driftwood when compared to the Mistoltin,

"A wise choice!" Aless called back, lowering the Mistoltin and adjusting himself in his own saddle. The black steed beneath him huffed angrilly, clearly as ready for a good fight as it's rider. "It pleases me to see such bravery from the son of my father's murderer! Any less would be an insult!"

The two charged at one another, swords poised to clash with one another. At the last moment before their horses would have collided, they swerved to the side, and the two men swung for eachother's own blade, clashing loudly halfway toward the other. The difference in the strength of the two swords was immediately noticeable, and Celice gritted his teeth to keep from crying out against the strain placed upon his arm by the Mistoltin against it. It felt as though the sword was already digging into his flesh, when in reality it was still far away from making any real contact.

_This_ was the power of a Crusader's weapon?

"I will have my father's revenge!" Aless cried, pulling the Mistoltin away only to swing again, this time coming within inches of Celice's bicep before he could block – surely it would have hit, were it not for the uncanny speed with which the hero sword could be swung. "You will rue the day Sir Sigurd killed King Eltshan!"

"You're wrong!" Celice shouted, forcing his horse up onto it's rear legs to break the deadlock between them, pulling back a few paces before he was forced to throw his sword in front of him, feeling utterly helpless and unable to do anything except block. Even then, blocking was something he could scarcely do successfully, as each swing weakened his arm more and more. Already, the desire to turn tail and flee was overwhelming, but he forced the desire out of his mind. "Our fathers were friends, not enemies!"

"Your father invaded Agustria!" Aless exclaimed harshly, tears beginning to form in his eyes. He brought the Mistoltin up and swung back down on Celice's sword, over and over again with increasing force each time. "Your father betrayed my father's trust, and when my father loyally served Agustria to the last, he was killed! Died valiantly trying to defend what remained of the land your father had stolen!"

Celice's head felt light, and remaining conscious was a matter more difficult than it ever had been. Each swing against his sword felt like it pierced his flesh over and over, until finally the overwhelming pain numbed him to all of it, leaving only a dull reminder in the form of an ever present ache in his entire body. "My father spent six months trying to return all of that land! And I think that, even to the bitter end, our fathers thought of one another as friends!"

Aless pulled back suddenly, bringing his sword back before swinging swiftly at the side of Celice's head, who narrowly caught the strike with his sword, but the force finally proved to be too much and he was sent flying from his saddle, smacking into the sanded, solid ground roughly. The sound of casually moving hooves sounded across the earth itself, and by the time he had rolled over onto his back, Aless was looming over him like the fearsome knight he was, the Mistoltin pointed toward his face.

"You lie," he seethed, swinging the sword once before returning it to the position it had previously been in. Celice dared not move, fearing his last chance at swaying Aless may be lost if he moved even a little. "My father was an honorable man to the bitter end, and your father tossed it aside the moment Grandbell decided that it wanted to settle into land that wasn't it's own."

"That's wrong," Celice said calmly, trying his very best to ignore the sword in his face and the blood-colored glow emanating from the hand wielding it. "King Shagaal was a traitor to Agustria, and when your father finally believed it, he was killed trying to stop the fighting. Our fathers always put their friendship first, I think. Even to the last minute, their first thoughts must have been of trying to avoid fighting one another. I am sure of it."

Aless slowly brought the Mistoltin up, the mysterious metal from which it had been forged shimmering in the sunlight that dimly lit the mostly shade-covered passageway, swinging it down with enough force to finally finish the duel. Instead, the blade stopped so close to Celice's face that he could smell the blood on it from battles past, even if it had been sufficiently washed of blood since. The scent was strong and unpleasant, but he endured. "See?" he gestured to the sword, most definitely not having killed him. "You want to believe that I am wrong, that I am the dishonorable man you have made my father out to be, but some part of you knows I have spoken no lies. Am I right?"

"Shut up," Aless growled, but the sword didn't move.

Despite the situation, Celice managed a smile; the sword in his face didn't seem all too inclined to return the smile. "You really have no idea how happy our fathers would be to see us meeting like this, Aless. Not... like _this_," again he pointed to the sword in his face, "but meeting at all is a miracle they would never have counted on."

Aless pulled back slightly, and while Celice stood he turned his horse around with the intent to return to his own army. "I will convince my commander to retreat for the day, Celice. But tomorrow, I will settle this."

Before he could move, however, Celice had grabbed his arm. "There won't be a tomorrow," he whispered, meaning every word.

"What do you mean?"

Celice gestured behind him to his army, all of whom were on edge and waiting for the order to attack that had yet to come. "If you retreat, we will ignore Darna and move straight for Melgen. No matter what the risk is, I cannot afford to be delayed."

Aless frowned, yanking his arm from Celice's grip. "You are that determined to see the empire destroyed?"

Celice shook his head while he walked to retrieve the hero sword that had been removed from his hand when he'd been launched from his horse. "Our fathers had another friend, one whom they were as close to as they were to eachother; you knew that, right?"

"Prince Cuan of Lenster," Aless replied automatically, his frown deepening. "What of it?"

"As we speak, King Blume lays siege to Lenster castle, where Prince Leaf, Prince Cuan's son, bravely fights for his life. I am riding to his aid, to uphold the bond our fathers shared. I would be honored if you would come with us, to maintain your father's honor."

Aless shook his head, finally sheathing the Mistoltin at his side. The glow in his hand dimmed somewhat, but was still an ever present reminder of the bloody past the Mistoltin had. "I will not fight for you, Celice."

Celice smiled, his hand going to the blade of the hero sword in his hand, running his index finger along it's length. "I do not ask that you do. Fight for the sake of your father's memory, for his bond with Prince Cuan. And if, by the time we have saved Prince Leaf, you are still convinced I and my father have wronged you, then you may kill me."

Again Aless shook his head, this time more reluctantly than he had before. "I would not stain my father's honor by betraying my employers. I have been asked to block you from breaking through here, and so I must put their safety above my own desires."

Before Celice could reply, a voice considerably more high pitched than his own shouted, "Aless!" The sound echoed all around them, and all eyes turned toward the cliffside where Darna rested, where a girl was now standing. She was scantily clad, with orange cloth covering only her chest and the expanse between her waist and her upper thigh, leaving all the distance between and the rest of her body bare. Her hair was a lighter shade of green than Levin's, with more orange cloth tying it into a ponytail. A nearly see through pink cloth was held in both of her hands, wrapping around the back of her neck in order to reach both hands. Her appearance reminded Celice greatly of how Oifaye or Shanan used to describe his father's friend, Sylvia, and the fact that they had the same hair color and profession – or so it appeared – raised a couple suspicions in his mind.

She was immediately surrounded by soldiers wearing the same pale yellow armor that the line of cavalry in front of them wore, pinning her down while a large man, dressed in noble's clothing – a red dress shirt with golden buttons lining his chest, and white tights – and carrying a strange lance in his right hand. It had no blade at it's tip, instead looking much like a staff of some kind, with a very axe-like blade just before the end of the shaft. It occurred to Celice immediately that the design made it particularly threatening to cavalry.

The noble smiled broadly before taking the girl by the arm, pulling her toward him and stroking her cheek in a depraved form of affection. Aless let out an angry shout and glared at the man, crying out, "Leen!" in an almost pathetic form of desperation. Celice, forced to watch in silence, immediately pitied Aless for the situation he was in. Maintaining honor, reclaiming who Celice assumed to be a loved one... there didn't appear to be an obvious solution to any of it.

He unsheathed the Mistoltin, this time facing the cavalry that blocked their path, a deep scowl on his face. "Celice!" he called over his shoulder.

"Hmm?" Celice questioned softly, pulling himself atop the horse he had borrowed once again. The time for a proper fight was drawing ever closer.

"If you are so convinced our fathers were friends to the bitter end, would you be willing to continue their fight?"

"Of course," Celice replied automatically, insulted that the question needed to be asked. "I think of King Eltshan and Prince Cuan as my uncles, even if I never knew them."

Aless nodded, spurring his horse into a swift charge, Celice following close behind. Further behind, Levin could be heard giving the order for the rest of them to charge as well. "If we get Leen back, I'll fight with you. If I find out you've been lying to me, however..."

"If you do, I will offer you my life in place of my father's," Celice quickly said, swinging his sword from side to side as the grew closer and closer to the cavalry waiting, all now having drawn their weapons and prepared for the difficult fight with Aless. "But I assure you, Aless, I spoke no lies. And our fathers would be pleased to see us fighting side by side like this!"

Aless nodded, cutting into the first of many men waiting for them. "I'll hold you to your word then, Prince Celice."

* * *

The battle for control of Darna had been almost depressingly easy with Aless' aid. The cavalry blockade in the Darna Way had been unable to withstand the full onslaught of their forces, and the pitiful defenses of contracted swordsmen outside the castle itself had been broken down by Celice and Aless alone. Aless slew Duke Bramsel, who Celice learned had been the large man they'd seen earlier that day, and the castle had fallen in less than three hours. Predictably few people had been within the walls of the city to greet him upon their occupation of the place, but winning Aless' loyalty and fragile friendship was victory enough for one day.

While Oifaye arranged proper defenses in case of enemy attack, Celice had been advised by both Levin and Shanan, who seemed to almost pointedly ignore one another, to get some rest. He had not been fond of the idea, but they had reminded him that he was in poor fighting condition from his brutal duel with Aless, and he had relented. Really, it was a miracle even to him that he had managed to see the battle through in the condition he was in, but the help of both Lana and Julia's healing magic had surely played some role in his ability to remain upright.

Celice wandered the castle's many hallways with Julia at his side, gazing at the many paintings that lined the walls. There were paintings dating back to the days when Darna had been the operational base of the Liberation Army that opposed the rule of the Gran Empire, depicting scenes of Darna with many brave soldiers surrounding it, bravely staring down what could only have been demons, either on two feet or an all fours, black as night and with claws for fingers. A dark cloud loomed over them while light shot down upon Darna; it depicted the battle wherein all but the twelve soldiers whom would come to be the Twelve Crusaders had died. It was both one of Jugdral's darkest and brightest days, the day where all hope was lost and new hope was born.

His finger traced the frame of the painting while he gazed sadly at it, Julia's presence by his side momentarily forgotten. "My ancestor wasn't like me, was he? He was able to be brave. He was able to fight, knowing that everybody who fought beside him could die. And most of them did, but even then he continued to fight. I..."

"Lord Celice?" Julia murmured softly, breaking him free of his thoughts. "You are strong, Lord Celice. And you have a very large heart, to care so greatly for those around you. But this is a war, right? You need to remember that you're not the only one willing to put his life on the line for those dear to him. Most of these people here would do that for you, though; they need you."

Celice nodded, letting her formality go unopposed for the time being. "It's hard, though, to know that the people you care about could die during all of this. If it's me, I don't mind; I've overcome the fear of dying, because I know how likely it is that I won't live to see this through. But everybody else..."

Julia grabbed his arm roughly, turning him to face her. "You can't speak like that, Lord Celice. You are our last hope; if you die, all is lost. No other Liberation Army has had the success you have, and only you can be recognized as Grandbell's next King. Even if somebody else continued what you started, it would not last, Lord Celice."

Again, Celice nodded. There was truth to what she said, he knew... "I just wish there were an easier way," he sighed, gazing toward the next painting. This one was essentially the successor to the one before it, with a radiant light shining upon Darna and the demon-like soldiers being sent flying away as though the light held a physical force that repelled them. In the center of the light stood twelve warriors, some wearing thick armor and wielding weapons while others wore thick robes and held a tome or a staff. Each seemed otherworldly in their appearance, as though they themselves had descended upon Darna with the radiant light that surrounded them.

"Levin told me," Julia said, making Celice wonder just how much of what she knew came from Levin, "that was wasn't meant to have an easier way. It's about doing what needs to be done, and not losing yourself in the process. It's not what you lose that truly matters, but what you can hold on to that does."

"Levin has experienced a lot, hasn't he?" Celice asked rhetorically, continuing down the hallway, his feet touching gently on the red carpet that covered the floor. "He seems to hold more knowledge than anybody I've ever met – more than even Lady Aideen."

Julia nodded, looking toward the floor and closing her eyes. "I feel bad for him," she said sadly. "He has been fighting since the day I met him. Not one day went by where he was not expecting to be attacked, be it by Lopt priests or empire soldiers. He later explained to me that he has dedicated his life to preparing this continent for the days to come, when the empire is finally gone and Jugdral is returned to the way it once was. That is his purpose in life, I think."

Celice noticed the way Julia's muscles tensed as she spoke of Levin's ill fortune, and let the subject drop. The next painting they came across was one that almost brought tears to Celice's eyes, with a dark background that immediately gave it a dreary feeling. But what was truly unsettling about it was the fight raging on amidst the darkened background. A demon much like the soldiers in the other paintings stood looming over two warriors, at least three times their size and holding a pitch black spear in his right hand. On the center of his forehead was a cross as red as Emperor Alvis' hair.

The two warriors facing him were what struck Celice hardest. The first was a man with curled, shoulder length silver hair and white robes, one arm tucked beneath the robes and holding a tome of some sort. He was the Saint Heim. The other was a man with blue hair, tied from his face with a green band, wearing shimmering blue armor and holding the Tyrfing in both of his hands. This one, looking like the splitting image of both Celice and his father, was Baldo. The picture immediately brought a nonexistent image of his parents fighting side by side in Agustria to his mind; he knew enough of what they looked like to be able to conjure an at least moderately accurate rendition of them in his mind.

"Mother... and father, I..." he choked on his words, a few tears sliding down his cheeks. He'd had seventeen long years to both age and grow used to the fact that his mother and father had lived tragic lives, and just as importantly had lived lives away from him. But the wound remained, opened whenever things grew too close to that memory for his own liking. Never would he forget that his father had died a presumed traitor, betrayed by those whom he had hoped would put an end to the fighting. And it would be even longer before he forgot how his mother had been torn from the side of both his father and himself, only to be revealed as the would-be wife of Alvis on the day his father died.

Julia's arms wrapped around his midsection tightly, her chest pressed against his back and her fingers lovingly stroking at his navel. "When this all ends, they will have gotten justice, Lord Celice."

Celice relaxed into her embrace, letting the mostly unfamiliar feeling of being doted upon in such a manner relax his body, tense from the tears that had previously been escaping the confines of his eyes. "I will avenge my father, and I will put an end to Emperor Alvis' idealistic dream. Will you stay by my side, Julia?"

"Of course, Lord Celice," she whispered, her hold tightening. "Of course I will."

And he knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had fallen into the same trap his father had fallen into before him. He, Celice Baldos Chalphy, had gotten his first taste of that wonderfully tormenting feeling known as love.

* * *

That brings this chapter to a close, with finally some real development that doesn't focus on the war itself. It always is an important thing for me to try to integrate things like that into a story like this that, in all fairness, focuses almost solely on the fighting. It's always a fun challenge to try to break that part of the story, and make it stand as something that is not reliant on the fighting to continue the storyline.


	5. Chapter Four: Resolve

Why I continue to make A/Ns for this is beyond me, because there aren't a whole lot of people who read it – I've long since decided that I'm doing this for my own benefit rather than that of anybody else. I've always loved Seisen no Keifu, and the writing potential it has just can't be ignored, no matter how few of it's fans are actually here. I just hope that those who are fans are pleased with my efforts, whether they're telling me so or not – I'm not the type to rewrite things to please people, because that is suggesting I have too little confidence in my own work, but I still don't like to think that people outright hate my efforts, at least not without saying so. It sort of leaves a bad taste, doesn't it? I can take criticism just fine (Lord knows I've gotten enough of it in the time I've been writing), but being left wondering drives me crazy.

But whatever; the lack of fans doesn't bother me and, as I just said, I don't care if people are reading this or not. Anyway, this chapter was far longer than I meant for it to be. Enjoy, whoever is reading, because I might as well please you while I'm pleasing myself.

* * *

Celice dove for the ground and rolled forward as a massive bolt of lightning struck where he had been seconds before. As he sprung upright he immediately turned to the side and away from a swinging axe, following through by swinging at the offending soldier's slightly uncovered neck. Sweat rolled off of his every limb and the wide, arid flatland before Melgen was awash with blood, sweat and the accompanying humidity of many very warm bodies in a tightly enclosed area. It was stifling to say the least, but Celice was making do as best he could.

For three hours the distance between Darna Way and Melgen had been the site of a massive battle. Even Levin had underestimated just how many troops Grandbell had amassed at the city guarding Lenster from the rest of Jugdral, and the already shorthanded Liberation Army had been sorely outnumbered from the beginning. The transport roads along the western mountainside had been bottlenecked by a small cavalcade under Aless' command, but even with him steadily pushing the attack there was little success made. It didn't help that their commander was quite possibly the strongest mage Celice had yet fought, and he spent as much time cutting down the hordes of soldiers around him as he did dodging blasts of lightning shot at him from a great distance.

So of course it only made sense that things were complicated by his need to nurse a badly wounded leg, compliments of a very well timed lightning blast – or perhaps compliments of very poorly timed dodging on his part, though both amounted to the same thing. It made him wonder why he'd not yet gotten a horse of his own, so as to eliminate the necessity to fight on foot, but it was only a small part of him complaining. Fighting on foot afforded him more freedom in his movements, and he didn't yet trust himself to fight horseback in a battle of such magnitude. They had Johan, Delmud, Oifaye and the rest for that, and he was more comfortable on foot. The additional air of command that fighting from horseback granted him could be forsaken for the time being.

Wincing as his leg scraped against a rock, Celice fluidly moved away from one sword and into the way of another, bringing his own sword up so that the two clashed above his head. Delmud immediately filled the space he had left open, throwing a disgruntled two-fingered salute to Celice before crashing his sword down on the swordsman Celice had left. Oifaye had been taking some time to train Delmud in proper swordsmanship when time allowed, and the similarities between their respective styles – as much style as there could be in horseback swordsmanship – were beginning to show.

"How are you holding up?" Celice asked as politely as he could manage while he fought to overpower the swordsman in front of him. The effort proved futile on account of his pitifully poor muscle strength in comparison to those around him, but he dodged to the side when his sword gave out on him and flew from his grasp. While it clanged to the ground behind him, he sprung a surprise by tossing aside his cape from where it had been wound around his hip, revealing his hero sword right as he drew it, cutting down the swordsman before he had grown fully aware that his foe had a second sword.

Delmud likewise dispatched his foe before riding away. He returned a few moments later with Celice's sword in hand, and Celice nodded gratefully as he cut down another soldier. As he took it, Delmud said, "Lord Oifaye asked me to check on you, but honestly, I'm more worried about Lester and Johan."

Celice had a sinking feeling immediately, but decided not to worry about it. Surely he could trust them to hold their own, and he couldn't do anything to help them anyway. Still, he couldn't help asking, "What's wrong?"

"Johan got caught up by some swordsman, and since Lester was providing him support, he's struggling too," Delmud said hesitantly, very aware of how hard Celice took any misfortune that befell his men. "I would have gone to help them but, like I said, Lord Oifaye demanded I check on you. He's taken command of what soldiers I had and is trying to help them, but these guys are persistent."

Just before Celice could reply to the negative – there hadn't been anything too persistent about them since Aless successfully drove a wedge into their side and effectively decimated their mage forces – he was forced to roll to the side as another bolt of lightning struck where he'd been standing, and he was forced to reassess his reply. He instead simply replied, "Go help them," before catching sight of an axe wielding knight distantly and dashing toward him. The sound of the hooves of Delmud's horse followed, but he made it a point to ignore his friend as he and the knight clashed, pure strength immediately threatening his knees to buckle.

"But Oifaye told me..."

"Go!" Celice shouted, before the weaker of his two legs gave out and he fell to one knee. Supporting himself solely on his bent right leg for leverage, Celice pushed against the axe holding him down in a futile effort to get some breathing space while he called over his shoulder, "If you're worried, send for Julia. But my authority takes priority, and I'd rather I hold out here for a bit longer than risk losing Lester and Johan because our persistent enemies are stubborn to a fault."

"But my Lord..." Delmud tried in a near-whimper, trying not only Celice's patience – for the situation more than his friend, but the ire directed at his friend was palpable nonetheless – but also that of the knight slowly losing ground as Celice dug in his heel and his knee, preparing himself for a rather long and winded stalemate.

"Please," Celice ground pathetically. He winced when his bad leg made contact with a rock, cutting into it slightly and poking lightly at the bone. Quickly shifting, Celice rolled to the side to avoid the axe that he had let go, and used the opening to stab his sword through a gap in the metal plates of the knight's armor. He spewed a bit of blood that landed on Celice's cheek, but then fell over with blood pouring down his face and over his chin, dying his barely visible flesh with the unmistakable color of blood.

"Are you alright, my Lord?" Delmud asked kindly, but only out of a formality that Celice was in no mood to deal with.

"Fine," Celice replied easily, but winced when he tried to take a step with his bad leg. "Send for Julia, and then go help the others. If you insist, send for Shanan as well. Go."

Celice ignored Delmud from then on, and two swordsmen later – one boldly attacking as Celice recovered from the first – Delmud gave up and, with a sigh of resignation, turned and rode away. This was followed closely by the troops under Celice's direct command finally catching up with him, more than likely having been goaded into doing so by Delmud. Celice was thankful all the same, for he doubted he'd last much longer on his own with a wounded leg, no matter how careful and strategic he was in choosing his fights.

The sun overhead reminded Celice rather harshly of exactly how hot the climate was made by the many bodies in the narrow passageway, flanked by the western mountains and the cliffside overlooking the Thracian Peninsula in the east. Sweat trickled it's way down his face with a small amount of blood from his cheek, and his clothing clung to his body like a second layer of skin, depriving him of much needed room to properly breathe. His every movement was straining, and his aching muscles were swiftly forgotten by the growing intensity of the heat that smothered him. Even his wounded leg, as bad as it was, would be forgotten and easily ignored before long.

Distantly, Celice could make out the clothed figure of who Levin had identified as General Liza, the commander of the Grandbell force they presently faced and – supposedly – the lover of Lord Ishtor, the man whom awaited them at Melgen castle. Her purple cloak made her stand out from the three knights flanking her, and the thunderbolt-stricken tome tightly held in her right hand identified her rather easily – Celice's leg could attest to that, among other things. Her cropped and neck length hair was quite noticeable as well, if only because the men flanking her were helmeted. She was quite imposing, but the look on her face told Celice she wanted to fight about as much as he did.

A small bit of guilt hit him then, knowing that she was his enemy and that she had to die for him to keep going. Otherwise, it would be Leaf's life that would be payed.

She slowly brought her arm up to point to the few clouds above, and with a swish of her arm they all momentarily gathered before releasing a massive blast of lightning. Celice again managed to avoid the assault, but he saw Liza's eyes following him, watching his every move. With little pause between motions she fired off another blast, and the clouds had barely enough time to separate before they were forced back together, conjuring a massive amount of energy before releasing another blast. This one Celice had no hope of dodging, and he cried out as the electric energy hit him full force, coursing through him and singeing his flesh while it drained him of all of his senses save for the agonizing feeling of the energy coursing through him.

Celice's hair stood on end as he collapsed to the ground, resigned to the fact that another attack like that would kill him. His weak gaze stayed on Liza the entire time, watching her eyes blink away the slight regret he had seen in their depths, replacing it with a determination that he was all too acquainted with. She brought her arm up again, and though her breaths came to her in several short gasps, she forced the clouds together one final time. She smiled slightly when her eyes met Celice's, and she mouthed what could only have been some form of apology before she swept her arm down, giving the elements her deathly order.

Celice yelped as he was pushed to the side, tackled onto his back with nothing but a wave of black hair and a mass of blue robes as indication of what had just happened. "Shanan!" he cried purely out of surprise, but that surprise was thankful in nature when, moments later, a massive blast of lightning unlike any prior to it struck the ground where he had been just moments before. Shanan quickly climbed to his feet and dusted himself off before offering the hand that wasn't holding his Balmung for Celice to take. As Celice returned to his feet he staggered slightly, but another and far smaller pair of arms wrapped around him from behind to steady him.

"We're here, Lord Celice," Julia whispered as she withdrew from him. Shanan gave a thumbs up to signify his agreement, but otherwise stood to the side as Julia labored herself over the several minor wounds and one major wound Celice had accumulated. The effort had her gasping for air, but Celice found he could move with little more than a minor sting where his flesh had been torn open by a rock and a distant ache as reminder that his leg had suffered from a lightning blast, even if it paled in comparison to the massive one that had threatened to prematurely end his life.

"You overextended yourself quite a bit," Shanan noted idly, like noting the details of a flower at his feet or a crack in the ground. Although it appeared as though he didn't truly care one way or the other, Celice knew it was Shanan's way to appear detached so that he didn't have to go through the process of dealing with emotions where emotions had no place. He was a firm believer in the idea of acting now, and regretting later. The idea of taking the time to show emotions on the battlefield was almost a sin in his eyes.

"How is everybody else doing?" Celice asked, ignoring the fact that he made the worry he felt for the lives of those around him painfully apparent.

"Oifaye is holding up," Shanan said casually, looking over his shoulder at Liza who, even from their distance, was obviously too tired to do more than remain upright. "Lester and Johan are still living, if that's what you were asking. And Aless has decimated their forces from the side; we'd see him breaking through soon if we stand still, but I sent a messenger ahead giving him orders to begin an assault on Melgen while we cleaned up here."

"You should rest, Lord Celice," Julia murmured indulgently, grasping his shoulders and carefully directing him to sit on a nearby boulder. "The others have things under control, but if you don't rest, that won't matter much, will it?"

"Soon," Celice replied raspingly, shaking off her hands and righting himself. "I promised I wouldn't hide, that I would not let myself be hidden away like I have been. This is my fight as well, and I would not be able to live with the thought of not seeing things through with my own eyes."

Shanan moved to object when Celice staggered forward, and no amount of defiance could stop him from plainly noting, "You're hardly keeping yourself standing, Celice."

"Everybody else is tired too, Shanan," Celice countered, but the impact of his statement was stunted by the exhausted yawn that followed, his eyes fluttering briefly in the process. "I will not accept special treatment on that account. If you are right and Aless is assaulting the castle, we will be seeing a chance to get some rest shortly. But for now, we need every sword we have to make sure we keep our army intact. According to Levin, the troops awaiting us in the Peninsula make these troops look like brigands."

"Please, Lord Celice, you need rest," Julia said with motherly concern. The amount of affection in her words would have brought tears to his eyes were he not so focused, but as it was he saw nothing but the need to prove himself. Not just to himself – he had done that many times over – but to Shanan as well who, no matter what Celice did or what he said, continued to look down upon him as a child. Celice both wanted and needed to be seen as the growing man he was, even if he was hardly any older than Shanan had been when Sigurd had died.

Celice stepped away from Julia's comfort and Shanan's fatherly concern, stumbling over his feet slightly in his exhaustion. He staggered toward Liza with a single-minded determination, caring only to see the battle end by his own hand. If he could do that, he could prove to Shanan that he didn't need to be coddled like he had been for so very long.

A small part of Celice's mind reminded him that his enemies were arguably innocent in the grand scheme of things and that they didn't necessarily need to die, but he dismissed that thought. He would worry about that later. Ignoring Shanan calling out to him and Julia urging him to rest – strangely, neither made a physical effort to stop him – Celice smacked a swordsman in the face with his shoulder and used the opportune distraction to cut him down before repeating the process on another swordsman, all the while keeping his eyes on the recovering Liza and the three knights flanking her.

When they caught sight of him the three knights advanced as one, two twirling lances in their right hands while the third smacked an axe against his shoulder. Celice came to an immediate halt and appraised them each in turn, looking for any openings in the way they moved their weapons or for any weak points where he could land a decisive blow. Taking them each out one by one and as swiftly as possible would be key, else he would be draining his energy further or, worse, struck down where he stood. Neither would be all that effective in declaring his independence from Shanan's moderately obsessive worry.

The one with the axe headed their triangle-shaped formation while the other two kept a bit of distance, with the obvious intent to use the additional range their weapons provided to their advantage. Celice was quick to back away, drawing the axe wielding knight closer and closer until he was confident that he could use him to ensure the other two could do nothing.

He kept his hero sword ready, watching for the signs of his foe making a move. His muscles tensed of their own accord and he flexed his toes, rolling on the balls of his feet while he curled and uncurled his toes. The movement was awkward with boots, however, and he planted himself firmly the moment he saw his foe's axe rise. As the swing came down he moved to the side, taking care to note that the others couldn't attack him without either hitting their ally or sacrificing their advantageous positions. Celice took advantage of this and slid forward, drawing his other sword while stabbing his hero sword through the gap at his foe's midsection. The blow was not decisive, but blood poured out profusely all the same.

"Celice Baldos Chalphy," the knight grunted, his weakening voice muffled by his helmet and thusly echoing. "His Highness didn't expect to see you fighting. Has Prince Shanan failed in coddling you, child?"

Whether it was the way the knight condescendingly spoke or the way he attacked Celice's greatest concern so flippantly, Celice snapped immediately. He pulled his sword out only to drive it back in, twisting it and skewering the flesh it had pierced. A muffled groan of pain emanated from the knight's throat but Celice continued, not satisfied until the metal surrounding where his sword had pierced prevented him from twisting further. When he pulled his sword out, the knight fell over immediately, gasping for air and clinging pitifully to the wound in his abdomen.

Celice dropped to one knee, gasping for air as the energy he'd been forced to expend in taking out that knight caught up with him. He lifted his gaze long enough to know that he had about five seconds to move, but his body was in no condition to obey his urging to do so. He managed to tilt his upper body to the side to avoid one lance thrust, but the second hooked under his left arm, throwing him to his feet and his head into a dizzying loop. A second lance thrust from that knight knocked him back off of his feet, though he managed to throw his arms up in a haphazard defense before the lance could hit him directly.

Ignoring the fact that his body felt as though he were wearing twice his body weight in armor Celice rolled to the side, avoiding lance thrusts as they came one after the other. When finally an opportunity presented itself he threw his leg out and smashed his foot into a calf, resulting in whichever knight he'd hit crying out something unintelligible and inappropriate as he clutched his swelling leg. Celice blindly stabbed upward by following the sound of the man he'd hit, but his sword clanged uselessly off of the metal plates guarding much of the knight's body. Undeterred Celice tried again, and on his second attempt he managed to drive his sword between the plates on either thigh, whereupon he accordingly winced sympathetically for the cruel blow he'd just dealt.

Before the final knight could capitalize on the fact that his foe was on his back and virtually immobilized by the foe he had just killed in the most cruel of ways, his head was promptly cut off and a quickly fading cry rang through the air. Celice was in the midst of climbing to his feet as this happened, and the only indication of what had happened was the distinctly black steed who's hooves were in his line of vision. Aless grunted before reaching down and offering a hand to Celice, who took it gratefully. "Are you alright, Celice?" he asked, giving the Mistoltin an idle swing to rid it of the blood lining it's tip, where the powerful blade had made contact with the knight's helmet and effortlessly cut through it.

"How is the attack on the castle?" Celice asked, waving off Aless' concern before dismissing it entirely. Aless was far easier to speak with however, and he made no strong effort to inquire the young Prince's health. At any other time this would be disconcerting and somewhat depressing, but Celice was much too tired to care that his efforts in striking up a proper friendship with Aless had been so painfully fruitless thus far.

Aless urged Celice to look behind him with a tilt of his head, directing Celice's attention to the castle. It rested atop a small, well defended plateau, but the thing that needed noting was that the flag proudly waving from the highest tower of the castle was not Grandbell's; it was a blue flag with golden embroidery, bearing the crest of house Chalphy. Also worth note was that Liza was presently being pressed into the ground, tied at the ankles and in the process of being tied at the wrists, kicking and screaming – somewhat literally – the entire way.

Celice nodded gratefully, letting exhaustion replace any pending need to be annoyed over having been denied his moment of glory. He was not one to cling to things like that, and a victory was a victory all the same. That, and he feared he'd not be alive for much longer were he to go toe to toe with Liza. She may have run dry her magic, but she still had a weak thunder spell or two; all Thunder Mages did.

"My cavalry are setting up a defense perimeter at the moment," Aless said pensively, idly patting his horse's mane. "They had a large force here, but the troops defending the castle were few and weak. And Prince Ishtor was a Thunder Mage like this woman was, so he was easy to take down even in close quarters." He slowly dismounted, reaching into his saddlebag for a moment before pulling out a small, round container of salve. "Take this, Celice. That wound on your stomach looks bad."

Taking the salve, Celice glanced down and noticed for the first time that his clothing had begun to dye red from a wound he'd been previously unaware of. He untucked his shirt from his breeches, lifting it up to glance at the odd, crescent-shaped wound in the center of his stomach, accented by the abs flanking it on either side. Blood was still pouring relatively freely from the wound, and it was with awareness for the serious wound that Celice suddenly began to feel lightheaded, staggering in place again and reaching out for Aless' horse to remain upright.

Celice was in the middle of trying – and failing – to juggle holding himself upright with holding his shirt up so that he could apply salve to his wound when Julia and Shanan approached, one looking absolutely furious and the other looking worried beyond belief. Celice was nearly knocked over the moment Julia caught sight of the wound on his stomach, in her haste to inspect the wound. After allowing for a moment of her smothering worry Aless dragged her away, giving a reproachful glare to Shanan. "If he doesn't apply salve first, healing magic would risk damaging his insides."

"It would?" Julia asked, looking far too clueless for anyone's liking. Particularly Celice's own liking, given that he had been healed by her on occasion.

"He's right," Shanan added, surprised either with Aless for knowing that over with himself for ignoring such a detail. "How is the attack going?"

"Castle, captured. Prince Ishtor, dead. Troops, setting up a perimeter," Aless summarized lazily, glancing at Celice while he dabbed his finger into the salve and spreading it across the length of his wound and hissing all the while. The moment his hand withdrew it was replaced with the ball of Julia's stave, already glowing an ethereal glow while it worked it's magic on his wound. The skin began bonding itself back together under her ministrations, leaving nothing but a very obvious scar in the shape of his crescent wound in it's wake.

"How is everything else going?" Celice asked, rubbing where his wound had been while he slumped against Aless' steed, eyes fluttering wildly in his fight for consciousness.

"Still a relative stalemate," Shanan replied offhandedly. "But with one commander dead and the other captured, I imagine they will fall apart soon."

"Priority is on ensuring that the castle remains standing until we've done a clean sweep and can set up proper defenses," Celice replied without pause. "Have we got any word from Fee regarding Lenster's state?"

"Yeah," Shanan replied dismally, with some hesitation. "Scouts confirmed the fall of Lenster castle yesterday. But this morning, we got a messenger from Fee. According to her, Fin made a tactical retreat after seeing Thracia make a move on Lenster as well. At present they are in hiding in the forests surrounding Lenster castle, hounding the Freege forces at every turn and keeping them from setting up proper defenses at Lenster. I imagine Blume isn't getting much help from Trabant either, seeing as the two have had a long-standing hatred ever since Blume kicked Trabant out of the Manster District."

"If we were to invade, I am sure King Trabant would be willing to put his hatred toward Blume on hold." Celice sighed and leaned harder against Aless' horse, eyes fluttering again before closing momentarily. "If it's just Blume, I am sure he knows that he at least has a hope of reclaiming what he believes to be his. But if we are brought into the conflict, he will see us as an unnecessary third party and will probably move to have us eliminated before anything else."

"We should divide our forces in two if we want to make sure that Prince Leaf is safe," Shanan said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin with the hand not still holding the Balmung. "One force to assault Alster while another uses the flatlands northwest of Alster to reclaim Lenster and save Prince Leaf. Supposing we can properly manage two armies like that, having both Alster and Lenster will go a long way in ensuring that our campaign in the Peninsula is easier."

"And Leaf would..." Celice paused, working his mouth for a few moments before trying again. "Leaf would want us to..." Again he trailed off, his eyes fluttering to a close and his body slumping forward, grabbed immediately by Shanan. "Would want us to... Lenster..."

With that garbled thought out in the open, Celice lost consciousness to the sound of Julia calling his name, Shanan's frantic voice as he shook him furiously, and Aless casually saying, "He should have been more careful."

* * *

When Celice next awoke, he found himself in a bed large enough for himself plus four. His attention was immediately drawn to the window behind him, where the curtains had been parted and moonlight was pouring in. Next to the bed was a small end table with a candle that, if the lingering smell was any indication, had only recently been extinguished. Along the wall opposite the bed was a massive wardrobe with it's doors open, and Celice could tell with a cursory glance that somebody had already placed his clothing therein. The bed aside, the room was relatively modest in size, but elegance had never been at the forefront of his mind anyway.

The sheets of his bed rustled of their own accord and a soft, calming gust of warm air buffeted his collarbone. It was only then that Celice noticed he was not alone in his extravagantly sized bed; Julia was curled against his side, one arm draped over his chest and her face pressed into his neck. Her even breathing told him she was asleep, but when he tried to move her other arm snaked it's way under his back, clasping with her other hand on the other side of his body and holding him firmly in place. Celice, now wide awake and unable to sleep, sighed indulgently and ran a hand through his hair.

"Lord Celice..." Julia whispered dreamily, snuggling closer toward him. Celice raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her, but found her looking far too comfortable for him to think of trying to move her a second time. He wasn't quite sure how they'd come to be in this situation to begin with, but his heart constricted at the thought of denying her something she obviously thoroughly enjoyed. That thought made a blush rise to his cheeks, in spite of his efforts to remain composed.

Celice managed to sit up without disturbing Julia, finding his abdomen protesting more than he'd expected it to. Lifting the sheet loosely covering his body, he saw the crescent-shaped scar was a rather dark shade of red, and dried markings of a similar color around it told him the wound had opened at some point, though the extent of the damage done was a mystery. Looking to the end table Celice noticed the salve he had previously applied resting there, and without bothering Julia he took the small container with one hand while dipping his index and middle fingers in with his other hand, spreading the thick mess over his wound and rubbing it in until all that remained was a slight chill from the cold goop.

"Let's see..." Celice murmured, glancing around in search of anything that could occupy his attention; sleep, he knew, would be evading him for several hours more. The end table was bare save for the container of salve and the recently extinguished candle, though when he opened the small drawer on it's front he found several cloths that appeared to have been used on him, with an obvious wetness lingering to them. Next to them was a small pile of parchment and a quill, but there was no ink in sight. Celice sighed and closed the drawer, leaning against the headboard and looking up at the ceiling.

Julia shifted again from beside him, wiggling about until half of her body was leaning on his bare chest, her hair covering all that her head did not. It took more willpower than Celice anticipated to resist running his hand through her long hair, and he instead managed to occupy himself with idly pulling at the sheet now resting awkwardly at his waist. His entire body was immobilized by the woman laying across it, and Celice thought not for the first time that it was far too heartless of him to move her. She just looked so peaceful, even if he had no idea why she was there to begin with.

A few minutes later – a few, dreadfully long and boring minutes later – he felt Julia beginning to stir, eyelashes tickling his chest as her eyes fluttered open. She took in a deep breath of air and exhaled it over his chest before coming to the realization that she was on his chest, at which point she promptly flew away and scooted as close to the opposite end of the bed as she could, her face flaming with embarrassment.

"L-lord Celice, I..." she stuttered, looking from his face to his now bare chest several times before staring down at the sheets. "I didn't mean to... uh..." Eloquence failing her, Julia murmured something unintelligible under her breath while keeping her eyes away from Celice's.

"It's fine, Julia," Celice replied in spite of his own embarrassment for the situation. "How long have I been asleep for?"

"A day?" Julia said uncertainly, wringing her hands nervously. In Celice's not-very-professional opinion, she didn't seem very invested in that particular subject. "I was just checking your wounds when I... Well, Sir Aless said that the wound would reopen if it wasn't tended to often." It didn't really need to be said that this had absolutely nothing to do with the question he had asked. Nor did it really establish the point Julia was trying to make, for that matter.

"I put more salve on it when I woke up," Celice admitted, glancing down at his wound and then back to Julia. "It looks like it opened in my sleep, though."

"Ah... y-yeah," Julia murmured as she caught sight of the wound, though her eyes danced to other parts of his chest more than Celice thought was necessary. She reached down to the floor on her side of the bed and grabbed her stave, pressing the ball of it lightly to his wound before passing magic through it and cleaning up the mess surrounding the scar. "It should be fine to move around now. It won't reopen again," she said, more certainly than anything else that she had said.

Celice glanced at his scar and poked it a few times before smiling crookedly and mirthlessly. "This will stay forever, won't it?"

"Yeah," Julia stated without reluctance, finally gathering the composure that Celice was used to seeing. "This is the best we can do, Lord Celice ---"

"--- Just Celice to you, Julia," Celice swiftly cut her off, giving her a disapproving glance. "When we are alone, it is just Celice. Must I repeat this every time?"

The composed Julia shattered like glass, reverting into the stuttering mess that had woken next to him without warning. "I... s-sorry, Lord – I mean Celice..." she rambled quickly, wringing her hands again out of a nervous habit. "Lord Levin said that when you woke up, you should be told that he decided how best to go about tomorrow's battle."

Ignoring Celice's question of why Levin didn't wake him up to consult him, Julia went into a winded explanation of how Aless and Shanan would be attacking Alster while Celice, Julia, and a small group of his choosing would go to the aid of Lenster's forces and retake Lenster castle. Before Celice could ask the question of why both Aless and Shanan would be needed at Alster, Julia pointed out – or rather, Levin did – that Blume had the sacred Torhammer and that having their best on hand for such a battle would be beneficial in more ways than one. This would leave himself shorthanded, but Julia assured Celice that Oifaye had a surprise for him, complements of Levin, that would surely help. Julia was rather dedicated to keeping that secret.

Celice slowly stood, rubbing the sleep from his eyes that made itself known only when he was getting up. Julia kept a wary eye on him as he moved to the wall near the end table, observing himself in the mirror there and messing around with his hair before placing it into the ponytail he often put it in. As per usual his hair awkwardly framed his face, but time and experience told him that messing with it yielded nothing. Once he was satisfied, Celice located his swords in their scabbards near the wardrobe, and he strapped them to either hip before pulling out his blue, regal gown and putting it on, followed by his white gloves. Julia's eyes were on his back the entire time, questioning even though her voice didn't back up their wonder.

"What are you doing, Lo... Celice?" Julia asked as she too stood, flattening out her white robes and revealing the light blue corset beneath it, narrowing her waist and accentuating other body parts more than Celice was comfortable making note of. "You should be resting."

"I won't be getting more sleep," Celice replied somewhat regretfully, knowing all too well that higher powers at work would do everything they feasibly could to deprive him of a good night's sleep. "At the very least I should make an effort to familiarize myself with the terrain we'll be fighting on, otherwise we'll be at an even greater disadvantage in the coming battles."

Julia managed a nod even though it was obvious she disagreed. "Lord Levin said that we would win if we made sure that we kept high ground. I'm not sure what he meant, but he seemed pretty certain."

"Have you two ever been to the Peninsula?" Celice asked, assessing Levin's words for merit all the while. As could be expected, his words had merit on a level Celice hadn't begun to think of. In spite of his best efforts, Celice knew he was still vastly inferior to Levin in that regard., despite his obvious talents as a tactician.

"Once or twice," Julia replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "We've been everywhere, either to get away from the Lopt Sect or to meet with people Lord Levin knew. Lord Levin knows a man somewhere here named August, who he has been keeping in contact with for a long time."

Celice nodded and let the matter drop. "At any rate, knowing the terrain will help us prepare beforehand. Keeping the high ground will be more difficult than it sounds if we have no idea what the lay of the land is."

Celice moved over to a small dresser located near the wardrobe and began opening drawer after drawer until he found a folded up map in the drawer third from the top and spread it out over the top of the dresser. It provided less detail regarding elevation than Celice would have liked, but it was enough to give him some foresight. Various levels of elevation were shown with rough lines and numbers showing the general height, but it was so closely pressed that reading it was a task in and of itself. It went without saying that having prior knowledge to the lay of the land beat having a map for reference.

"Where is Lord Leaf waiting for us?" Julia asked, peering over his shoulder at the map.

Celice's eyes scanned over the map until he found a small forest resting southwest of Lenster castle that fit the report they had received from Fee. "Here, most likely. Freege's archery is relatively weak because of the focus they put on a strong regiment of Thunder Mages, so Fee's troops should be safe so long as they don't try to fight without support. I am more concerned about the Freege main army which, despite us being so close, is pursuing Prince Leaf. Hopefully Sir Fin knows what he's doing out there."

"Don't worry about it, Celice," Julia murmured. She lifted her hands up to cup his shoulders and began rubbing with her thumbs, working at the tense muscles there. "You can't do anything about it until we get there. Worry about what we can do, and trust that they can hold themselves together until we get there."

"If Prince Leaf dies..."

"He won't," Julia said forcefully. "He has been facing trials like this for a long time. Lord Leaf has been fighting for far too long; he knows what he is doing, possibly better than you yourself."

Celice's eyes left the map briefly, staring over his shoulder into Julia's eyes as she continued to work out the tense muscles taking refuge in his upper back and shoulders. "Has he really been through so much?"

"Since he was three, his life has been fleeing from one safe haven to the next," Julia explained patiently. "Lord Levin says that Sir Fin has worked himself nearly to death for many years to keep Lord Leaf alive. It was only recently that Lord Leaf gathered the strength to make a stand, and that was stopped quickly."

"All the more reason for us to make haste," Celice said forcefully. Turning back to the map, he folded it up and returned it to the drawer from whence it came. "I will not allow his efforts to be for nothing. Sir Fin's sacrifices and Prince Leaf's tragedies are too many for them to be allowed to die here. As his cousin and as the son of his father's greatest friend, I would never forgive myself if I failed here."

Both turned to the doorway suddenly when it was thrown open, Levin casually striding in after it. "Remember what your priorities are," he said dispassionately, shrugging his shoulders in a noncommittal manner. "If we can save him, so much the better. But remember that your duty lies with liberating the Peninsula, and Leaf's life is not worth as much as the fate of the entire country. If you need further incentive, think of what Leaf would say if he were to know you sacrificed the country's liberation for his life, even after he has given so much for the liberation of the Manster District and the Peninsula as a whole. He has lost friends, built an army and lost it, and we are his only hope."

"But..." Celice stuttered, floored by Levin's callous speech.

"Prince Cuan sacrificed all of Lenster in a gamble to help Sigurd, Celice," Levin barked disapprovingly. He strode over to the dresser where the two were still standing, fixing Celice with a heated glare that melted his desire to fight Levin immediately. "Lenster fell because Cuan miscalculated; he forgot to account for just how far Trabant was willing to go to conquer the Manster District. Likewise, Leaf has failed because he misjudged how powerful the Freege forces were after scoring a few underhanded victories. Both fell because they were too quick to become overconfident, but both are similar in their dedication. Leaf would not let Lenster fall without a fight, even if that fight were to continue after his death. He would want that much."

"But if Prince Leaf dies, who can rule Lenster?" Celice asked, in spite of his hardheaded refusal to let that be a possibility.

"It was decided long ago by Prince Cuan that Sir Fin would take over were there no other alternatives," Levin replied with a careless roll of his shoulders, making his loosely fitting robe fall over his collarbone by an inch. "He may be a warrior at heart, but Fin is one of the most levelheaded men I have had the honor to meet. He can work under pressure, he is determined to a fault, and he has many years of wisdom that Leaf could not hope to match. There could be no better a choice to rule Lenster in Leaf's place."

Resigned to the truth of that statement Celice nodded, but the heated look he gave Levin spoke volumes of his refusal to let that be the case. It was an unspoken truce that he would be do as he pleased in regards to Leaf, and the look in Levin's eyes said he knew better than to fight that bit of determination.

* * *

The next morning, Celice stepped out of his quarters to much of the same things he found any other morning, save for the fact that he was in a castle rather than a small tent. People were running to and fro with early morning haste; Skasaha was one of the first, dashing by and waving briefly on his way to the winding staircase that led down to the first floor. Lakche and Johan weren't far behind, both carrying various things on their way in the same direction. Needless to say, Celice was far too tired to be witness to such lively activity.

Julia and Levin took their leave not long after discussions – arguments, though Levin firmly avoided calling them as such – winded down, but even alone Celice had been unable to get any sleep. In the hours that followed, he had grown quite familiar with the general lay of the Manster District, to the point where he was confident he would be able to recognize just about everything he came across simply because he knew the map so well. He was still limited in what he could do with what a small map offered, but it was better than walking blind, he reasoned.

After a spectacular failure in getting back to sleep after all of the studying, Celice had ventured throughout the castle until he grew tired of the winding, eerily identical hallways and had found his way back to his room. From there it was a simple matter of waiting out the night and, come morning, exhaustion had cruelly reared it's head. And that left him where he stood, blinking sleep from his eyes and observing the comings and goings of people so lively that they appeared as though they were mocking him for his inability to be so lively.

At the end of the long train of soldiers, servants and friends hauling various things about was Oifaye, directing other people with calming words and waves of his hand, all the while holding a long piece of parchment in his left hand that he was reading from. He nearly passed Celice before he realized he was there, and then he quickly backpedaled and managed a swift bow.

"Why so much activity, Oifaye?" Celice asked the first thing that came to mind, the thing haunting him and his sleep deprived body.

"The remnants of the Freege forces stationed at Alster are on their way here. Three mages seem to be leading them, and if we don't prepare soon, we'll be overrun. I will have your equipment prepared shortly, Your Highness, so if you don't mind..."

"I will help," Celice quickly said, urging Oifaye to continue walking and falling into step next to him. "Levin said Aless and Shanan should stay with the main army, but I want you to lead, Oifaye. Only you can manage the necessary respect to act in my stead."

"With all due respect, Your Highness," Oifaye said formally, his eyes returning to the parchment held tightly in his hand, "I would not overstep my bounds. If Levin says it is best that we leave the matter to Aless and Shanan, I would agree. And is Shanan not suitable to lead?"

"I want to agree," Celice grumbled mournfully, "but I cannot. While many of our men are loyal to Shanan, the army as a whole is familiar only with you and I. There would be disarray if we turned command over to Shanan at this point, just like that would be the case if we gave Levin any real authority. Their places can only be in the roles they presently serve, despite their worth being placed in other roles."

Oifaye stared at Celice in surprise for several moments before shaking his head and sighing wistfully. "I did not expect you to be so insightful, Your Highness, but I suppose you are right. If you think I am best for the task, I will ensure that Alster falls and that your journey to save Prince Leaf is a safe one."

"Do not overwork yourself for my sake, Oifaye," Celice countered kindly, touching his hand to his guardian's arm. "I know how dedicated you can be, but I would not like to see you work yourself so hard. Once I save Prince Leaf and reclaim Lenster castle, we will proceed along the northern road and ambush Blume at Alster while you have him distracted. If you can take the castle do so, but I will move to your aid as soon as I can."

"Of course," Oifaye said offhandedly, though he clearly didn't think much of the order. "At any rate, I have a gift for you before you depart. Choose who will accompany you to Lenster and then I will give it to you, Your Highness."

The two continued on their way, Oifaye giving orders here and there and Celice trying to rid himself of the sleep deprivation that refused to completely leave him. Oifaye directed servants to pack their belongings and urged soldiers to pack provisions and weapons, all the while maintaining a word or two with Celice here and there. Celice decided upon taking Delmud, Johan, and Lester – the best of their mounted warriors, excluding Oifaye – with him to Lenster, along with a platoon of cavalry. It was easily decided that Julia would stay with the main army despite her request that she go with Celice, under the excuse that she would be unable to keep up with an army consisting solely of cavalry. Oifaye was oddly agreeing of this idea, which gave wonder to what he had in store for Celice.

When they reached the main floor, Levin and Julia were waiting for them along with the previously determined warriors, all of whom had been summoned on Oifaye's orders. Levin didn't seem to have any forthcoming disputes with Celice's choice of allies, but Julia seemed pensive about something. When Oifaye urged her to voice any concerns she had, she said softly, "Will Lord Celice be okay with so few?"

Realizing her concern for the worry that it was, Celice smiled and rested a hand on her narrow shoulder. "I am not to be taken so lightly, Julia. I may not be in perfect shape after yesterday's battle, but I assure you that I will be fine. If nothing else, Delmud and Johan can hold their own. And Lester will make sure nothing unexpected comes our way. Right, everybody?"

"Of course!" Delmud agreed firmly, beaming at the praise he received.

"I'm not exactly in great shape either," Johan admitted, directing Celice's attention to a bandaged wound on his chest, with the unmistakable color of blood seeping through his clothing. "But I will make sure that we reach Lenster safely. Besides, I am eager to meet the knight that everybody holds in such high regard."

"Sir Fin truly is one of a kind," Oifaye added. "Even I could stand to learn much from him, and his hero lance makes him virtually invincible."

The group proceeded outside, where the early morning sun reflected off of the marble statue spewing water into a fountain in the center of the castle courtyard. Shrubbery and other plants covered much of the courtyard, and stone tiles winded around the fountain and toward the gate leading into the marketplace. The courtyard could be seen from the balconies above, one of which linked to the room Celice had been in the night before, Celice noticed.

Of even greater importance was the gift waiting for Celice in front of the fountain. Complete with a royal blue saddle, a horse with white fur and a blue mane was tapping lightly at the stone tiles beneath it, eyeing a few plants just out of it's reach hungrily. As Celice neared the horse it glanced over, and after a moment of just staring it approached him, nudging him lightly with it's snout.

"This is...?" Celice asked carefully, hesitantly stroking the steed's mane.

"This was a baby I found with Sigurd's horse," Levin replied. "When I returned to Barhara, I found his horse dead amongst the carnage, with a barely alive baby curled up next to it. I nursed it back to health and have been taking care of it, waiting for the day I could give it to you. Consider it your father's finest gift to you, posthumously of course."

"I..." In an unexpected turn of events, Celice found tears stinging his eyes. While one hand continued to pet down the horse's mane, the other stroked it's body from neck to tail before beginning a trail back up. "I can't accept this, Levin. My father, he..."

"Would have wanted you to have this," Levin cut him off, moving to stand next to him, his hand joining Celice's in stroking the horse's body. "His horse was one of the finest I've ever seen. Only Eltshan's was greater than his, and that horse has long since died. For Sigurd's horse to have left you a gift like this, I am sure he would have demanded you have it."

"But it must be at least seventeen years old, right?" Celice asked, receiving a nod in return. "That's quite old for a horse, isn't it?"

"Sigurd's horse was as old as he was when she died, Celice, and she was still as magnificent as she was the day I met your father," Levin explained. To Celice's immense surprise, Levin managed the tiniest of smiles at the memory. "I imagine this horse will be no different. Take him, and live out your father's memory to the fullest."

"Him?" Celice echoed, before noticing the distinctly male features, such as it's distinctly non-castrated state. Celice continued to stare at the horse while he nudged and nuzzled into his chest, urging Celice to give him more attention. "I'll accept him, Levin. I could think of no better horse, and I've been wanting to take up horseback riding for some time."

Celice climbed up into the saddle, shifting himself around until he was comfortable and not disturbing his horse. If his horse even noticed him sitting atop him, he didn't show it, instead occupying himself with kicking at the ground and observing whatever plant life seemed to be just out of reach. With a nudge toward the small group of flowers growing between two stone tiles, Celice glanced around his horse's head as it leaned down and snapped two flowers off of their stems. Immediately after, it trotted over to the fountain and began gulping down water, much to Celice's amusement.

"We are ready to leave on your order, Prince," Delmud spoke up, smiling somewhat crookedly as he observed Celice fondly petting the progeny of his father's horse. "Surely it would be best to have some headway so that we do not risk being ambushed by Freege forces on the way?"

"Of course," Celice replied dismissively, glancing over his shoulder briefly before returning his attention to his new stallion. "Oifaye, round up the troops that are to accompany me. Johan, Delmud, Lester, gather whatever supplies you feel you will need. There will be no rest until we have regrouped with the Lenster forces, and even then I fear there will be no rest until we have retaken Lenster. Keep that in mind, because I'll not be sacrificing any of you on account of poor preparation."

"What about me, Lord Celice?" Julia asked as the three knights took their leave. If Celice didn't know better, he'd have thought that she looked sort of crestfallen at not having been chosen to accompany him. Celice smiled solemnly down at her, fixing the reins in his right hand.

"Levin will keep you safe, Julia," he said quietly, reaching down briefly to move her hair from her face. "I cannot do that in this battle. As much as I want to, I fear I would fail my duty as your shield if I try to perform that duty while trying to save Prince Leaf. I promise I will return safely, however. Alright?"

"O-of course, Lord Celice," she stuttered in reply, keeping her eyes fixed on his two fingers as they wrapped several strands of her hair around them tenderly. "But taking so few... Is that wise?"

Celice drew his cape back with his free hand to reveal his hero sword and his father's sword strapped to his left and right hips respectively before drawing it away from his body entirely, leaving it to rest on his horse's rear until it should fall. "It would be less wise of me to take away from what few troops we have laying siege to Alster. If the Freege forces are as powerful as we are to believe, doing so could prove fatal. Moreover, I simply need to rendezvous with the Lenster forces and then I will have a manageable army, right?"

"Supposing they are still standing," Levin added bitterly. "Do not let yourself be consumed by hope, Celice. Odds are Fin has allowed them to survive, but you will only set yourself up for disappointment if you assume they are alive. Confirm that with your own eyes."

"Yeah..." Celice murmured, suddenly feeling very crestfallen himself. He withdrew his hand and turned his horse to face the gates leading to the marketplace, fixing a blank expression on his face with some effort. "Levin, make sure Oifaye has control of things. I have left him in charge here, and it needs to stay that way. As for my troops, they are to meet beyond the city perimeter, where I'll meet them. Good luck, both of you."

Celice tore off into a gallop, steering around the fountain and motioning with his hand for the guard on duty to open the large, iron gate for him as he approached. The marketplace beyond was empty considering the early hour, with only the earliest of risers setting up shop for the day. He gave each person he came across a curt nod in passing, but he didn't stop for conversation on his way to the large gateway leading out of town, the large doors drawn to a close in unnecessary preparation for a siege.

The three guards on duty there exchanged awkward glances before giving the go-ahead, one of them pulling on the chain that operated the large doors while the other two watched over the wall for anybody coming, particularly a large number of people bearing the flag of the Freege royal family. Celice gave them a nod in passing as well, finally slowing to a steady stop as the doors closed behind him. Immediately he could feel the sun trying to muster the strength to attack, all the while making it's gradual climb in the sky. His horse took a very vehement protesting to the sun's strength, pawing anxiously at the ground while glancing backwards every so often, as though he knew more than basic assumptions would lead one to assume.

Along the horizon dust clouds trailing behind the feet of the approaching Freege army could be seen. The small hill bordering the Peninsula rested at a perfect height with the plateau that Melgen rested on, and the waving flags of the Freege army were visible through the branches and trees of the forestry atop the adjacent hill. Before long they would be descending the hill, and from there it would be either a matter of facing them off on the flatland or securing the high ground and overpowering them before they could properly assault. Neither were favorable options when compared to taking the fight to them on their own soil, if only on account of the fact that Celice's own mission would be made more dangerous if he were to have to make his way an invading army. They were all infantry which meant that Celice was confident he and his troops could outrun them, but a small skirmish would likely be inevitable in the process.

"I wonder..." Celice reached down toward the attached saddlebag on the saddle, fishing through it for whatever may have been stored within. There was a tightly wrapped loaf of bread, likely compliments of Oifaye. There were several other essentials and non-essentials, ranging from a quill and a rolled up piece of parchment – why he'd need such a thing in the heat of battle was beyond him – to a compass. Finally he found what he'd hoped to be stored in the saddlebag; a small hand held telescope.

Celice held it over his right eye and stared at the billowing dust clouds, taking immediate note of the mounted mages at the head of the army, dressed in traditional mage wear and entirely identical to any other mage except, of course, for the horse upon which they sat. Behind them was a rather large group of knights and finally more mages trailing behind them. In front of even the mounted mages were three relatively short mages, all of them identical in appearance. If there were any features that were not the same amongst all three, it could not be seen from such a distance.

Frowning, Celice dropped the telescope back into the saddlebag. The last thing he needed to worry about was how powerful an army his friends would be facing while he rode to Prince Leaf's aid. He tried to tell himself that he could not protect both at the same time, but that did little to set aside Celice's despair at the thought of being unable to ensure all of his friends and allies survived. He wanted to trust that they would be okay on their own and that he needed not coddle them, but Celice worried that they would die the moment he did not.

"Prince, we're ready," Delmud called as he approached, the hooves of his own horse clapping loudly against the ground, followed closely by a torrent of identical claps from Johan, Lester and the group of cavalry that was to go with them. "Is that the Freege army?" Delmud gasped as he caught sight of the massive dust cloud in the distance. "Are you sure we should be leaving the army like this, Prince?"

"If we do not, Prince Leaf will die," Celice replied quickly. "It is not an easy decision to make, but we just have to trust Oifaye to do his part. Levin is with him, among other people, anyway."

"I suppose," Delmud said noncommittally. He drew his sword from it's scabbard at his right hip, giving it a few roundabout swings before resting it lightly on his shoulder. "How long do you think we have?"

Celice pulled out the telescope again and took another look, sighing dramatically when he saw them still moving with relative haste. "I was hoping they would stop for a rest before descending upon Melgen, but it seems they are intent on taking us out in a blitz. On the other hand, a swift march from Alster has probably left their men relatively tired, and their horses are probably no better off. So while we will have our work cut out for us getting by unnoticed, they will be easy to deal with if they try to press the attack without resting."

"Do you think Oifaye will keep the high ground?" Delmud asked, taking out a telescope of his own to observe the swiftly approaching enemy. "They seem like they have the advantage in numbers. And skill? Who knows."

"Keeping the high ground here would put the populace at risk; neither Oifaye nor I would allow that," Celice replied pensively, looking over his shoulder at the town ramparts, where militia guards were patrolling. They were obviously very nervous, lacking the proper military training and firm dedication that was commonplace in the Liberation Army. "Besides, a blitz has little merit with mages, I am sure. Magic is highly ineffective if they try to use it while moving, or so I have been told. They would have to slow their march to prepare a proper assault with that many mages, and that window of opportunity will be all Oifaye needs to sortie and catch them exhausted and unaware."

"Either way," Delmud said with a dismissive wave, "we are wasting our time thinking about it. We should get going, shouldn't we?"

"If we are careless, they will notice our movements and likely intercept," Celice sighed. "Tired as they are, they would prevail over us in such few numbers. This matter is more difficult than I initially anticipated."

While the rest of the cavalry continued to group around them, Celice and Delmud each kept a close eye on the approaching Freege army. Slowly but surely they were becoming easier to spot, and it would only be a matter of time before they would be in position to begin their assault in earnest. The key, Celice knew, would be timing their departure so that they could use the hilltop forestry as cover and break away toward the north without alerting the enemy that they'd even been there. With any luck, Oifaye would be ready to keep the enemy's eyes on him.

"Now!" Celice cried suddenly, noticing the columns of Freege soldiers coming to a sudden halt just before the southern side of the hill, leaving the western side wide open. It would take some careful movement, but Celice was confident that they could make it. "Keep your movements slow, and make sure that you leave no dust clouds behind you. If they notice any of us, it's over. Everybody understand?"

A quiet but affirmative roar followed. Celice smiled tightly, glancing to his left and right at Delmud and Johan, giving each a nod before spurring his horse into a slow trot. He was careful to make sure they were distanced just enough that they weren't a solid mass of cavalry to their distant foes, and he kept a close eye on their enemy until the camped army was out of view. While riding Celice kept a firm grip on the hilt of his hero sword, knowing it would be an effort to get away safely if they were to be spotted. More importantly, it would be an effort to make sure his friends got away safely.

With a hushed warning, Delmud directed Celice to a small cluster of trees beyond the watchful eye of their predatory foes. As they disappeared amidst the trees and foliage, Celice made certain he could hear his men following behind. It would be a shame if they didn't make it, but he didn't have the time to stop for a head count. Every second was precious, and reaching the hilltop and disappearing into the forestry without alerting the enemy was more important than making sure they didn't lose anybody in the process, loathing as Celice was to admit it.

"How many are behind us?" Celice whispered as loudly as he safely could.

"All of them, last I checked," Delmud replied carelessly. "Lester and Johan are doing their best to keep them rounded up. I'm making sure you get to the safe area without incident, then I'll make sure everybody else does."

Celice nodded, urging his horse into a full gallop. He swerved around trees and lightly leaped over protruding roots, and when finally he broke free of the forestry the hill was right in front of him. From his position he could see the camped Freege army now, settling down for food and a bit of rest. Their backs were to him, but that didn't ease his nerves any, and he quickly slowed his horse to a careful trot again. When it came to climbing the hill he dismounted and walked alongside his horse, silently save for the light sounds of the hooves of Delmud's horse as he followed close behind.

When Celice reached the top, the first thing he did was reach for his sword while glancing over at his enemy. A small group of trees stood in the middle of the wide expanse of the hill that separated them, but since Celice could see them he had no doubt in his mind that, were they to look, they would see him as well. Glancing behind him, Celice gave Delmud a thumbs up and nodded toward the cluster of trees on the flatland below, where the majority of their troops were still making their way through as stealthily as they could.

Celice smiled tightly when he saw all of Melgen's gates sliding open, Oifaye proceeding out atop his charger, an armor piercing sword on his left hip and a lance in his arm. Attached to the right side of his saddle was a cluster of javelins, but with only a dozen or so Celice doubted they'd have much use. Among other things, the silver, horned helmet atop his head stood out, as did the recently polished suit of armor he wore, also silver in color. He looked like a magnificent knight proceeding into an epic joust, and the columns of soldiers filing out behind him did nothing to belittle this fact. Oifaye looked ready to fight like he'd never fought before.

A sudden roar of activity sounded from the army adjacent to him as they caught sight of Oifaye, people jumping to their feet and hastening into action faster than Celice had every seen. It was obvious they were tired by the way they stumbled over their feet or staggered in place sometimes, but they appeared to have enough control to remain upright. All the same, Celice could tell that they had no hope of mustering the strength to put up a good fight, and their fate more or less rested with the three identical mages that had been leading the pack.

With their attention elsewhere, Celice swiftly waved a hand over his shoulder, urging his men to hurry up. Not long after the sound of many hooves smacking against the ground filled his ears, with quiet whoops of encouragement from many of the men as they began the steep climb up the hill. Celice allowed them to catch up on their own time and pulled out his compass, confirming which direction was north before taking off in that direction. Before long, Delmud and Johan were flanking him, with the rest of their platoon close behind, guided by Lester.

"Were any of you spotted?" Celice asked over his shoulder, focusing on the approaching line of trees in front of him, daunting him with the sheer number of them, reminding him of his relatively sub-par equestrian abilities.

"It doesn't matter if we were, but I don't think so," Johan sighed dramatically. "Those guys looked about ready to collapse. Who in their right mind sends such an exhausted army into battle? Not even my father was so foolish as to do that."

"Blume has lived his life riding on the tail of his father's fame," Celice sighed in return. "He, like so many others, is an influential man with little in the way of real talent. You'd think Alvis would have kept a more watchful eye on useful men, but I suppose noble traditions were something not even he could tear down."

"Perhaps," Johan conceded. "But on the rare occasions I have met King Blume, he seemed relatively levelheaded. Pompous and very full of himself, but he seemed capable enough."

"Pompousness and arrogance go hand in hand," Celice added with a slight bit of a humorous tone. "I'm willing to wager that he is looking down on us, assuming that he will come out on top simply because we are a bunch of kids. Care to prove him wrong, Johan? Delmud?"

Both voiced their immediate agreement before spreading out, losing themselves in the midst of the narrow paths winding between the many trees around them. Celice constantly had to urge his horse over protruding roots to avoid unfortunate mishaps. His eyes continued to watch everything as it came, from the trees far out of his way to the roots in the ground three rows of trees ahead. When finally he broke free of the forestry many minutes later, it took his eyes just as many minutes to adjust to the sudden influx of light from the steadily rising sun.

The sight that met Celice beyond the forestry was one both very surprising and entirely expected, since he had seen it in a condensed form on the map he'd been studying the night before. The land was an ever flowing wave of small and large hills, all surrounding a rather large plateau that backed a small, run down church. The stone walls of the church were falling apart, but it appeared stable enough. Were the circumstances different, it would have served as a worthy base for a good night's rest. Or a good day's rest, Celice noted as an unexpected yawn forced it's way from his throat.

"Where is Prince Leaf hiding?" Johan asked as he, Lester and Delmud broke through the forestry, coming to a stop on either side of and behind Celice. "It's around here, isn't it?"

"There should be a forest northeast of here. With any luck, we'll find them there."

The three knights nodded before the group took off again, careful to keep a leisurely pace until they were joined by the entirety of the cavalry following them. They continued until they were well beyond the church and it's looming plateau, but the exhaustion building in their steeds demanded they settle down for a brief rest at a small stream running down from the sea that rested on the Peninsula's northern border. While their horses had a rest the men settled around a small makeshift campsite that had been built by past travelers, feasting on whatever they had stowed away in their saddlebags.

Celice unwrapped and bit into the small loaf of bread he'd previously found in his saddlebag, giving each of his men a passing glance as he did a head count. Not one had been left behind, to his immense relief, but he wasn't about to start counting blessings before the fight began. While they were still well rested and ready for a good fight, their horses were exhausted and any further travel would likely drive them beyond what they could safely endure. Only his own horse seemed to be unaffected by the run it had endured, but Celice could already observe him closely enough to tell that he was close to being exhausted himself.

"I'm not sure how much farther we can go without giving our horses a proper rest," Lester spoke over the din of the men talking around them, observing their horses closely as they munched on grass and lapped at the water flowing downstream. "I know how you feel, Prince, but we should really take it slow from here on."

"I know," Celice replied dismissively, taking a large bite from his loaf and leaving just the round end held between his fingers. "So long as we don't take too long. I'm a little worried by the fact that Fee hasn't sent word recently, especially since word must have reached them that we took Melgen."

"Perhaps she is held down," Lester remarked casually, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back against the trunk of the tree behind him. "Blume wouldn't let Prince Cuan's progeny run rampant after Prince Leaf so valiantly reclaimed Lenster recently, so my guess is that Blume is pressing his luck and sending the troops that retook Lenster to hound them."

"It would be odd if he did not do so," Celice countered. "But Sir Fin has been fleeing from one form of solitude to another for years, so you would think he'd be capable of eluding a meager army if he were given as much headway as he was."

Their conversation unofficially came to an end along with all other conversation when a deafening roar echoed around them. Celice glanced all around and Johan morosely commented, "So much for a rest," before a massive, black beast revealed itself hovering over the forest on the horizon, beyond the stream in front of them. It had the body of a reptilian – most notably, a snake – and wings like a bat's, only enlarged. Two small feet could be seen attached to stubby legs where the body ended, and beyond them was a tail that seemed nearly as long as the body.

Perhaps most noteworthy was that there was a saddle settled between two spikes on it's back, with a thickly armored man sitting comfortably within.

"A dragon?" Celice gasped, recalling pictures of such creatures from things he had read in the past.

"A wyvern," Johan corrected. "All the same, it's a fearsome beast that makes it's home only in the most mountainous of places. Namely, Thracia."

Celice blanched, disliking already the implications of that statement. "Thracia has signed a truce with Grandbell after all?"

"It would appear so," Lester sighed, notching an arrow and raising his bow to aim at the beast. "Otherwise, Blume would have pounced on Thracia's knights the moment they crossed the border. By the looks of things, their truce includes a return attempt at Trabant destroying Lenster."

"They did a fine job last time," Delmud quipped bitterly. He, like all others, kept his eyes on the Thracian knight at all times. "The Yied Massacre is a tragedy greater than just about any Grandbell can account for. Waging war is one thing – that, I accept and understand – but the Yied Massacre was not warfare. It was fighting a helpless foe; I mean, Prince Cuan was helpless even with the Gae Bolg. How many did he kill? Two?"

"If even that," Celice scathingly answered. "That victory was Thracia's greatest in it's history. Trabant will be praised for generations for his efforts, even if he was eventually pushed out of the Manster District. He has succeeded where Thracia has failed every time before, even if the success was shortly lived."

"Anyway," Johan interjected, "this answers our question." At everybody's confused looks, he sighed and explained, "Arrogant he may be, but Trabant is no idiot. If he has one knight here, he has more, prowling the skies. And skilled at subterfuge or not, Sir Fin can't hide from an eye that watchful."

Another cry echoed, and as all eyes flew back to the carelessly hovering wyvern, it lifted it's tiny feet and flexed it's toes before dropping what appeared to be a now-mangled body to the ground. Celice's hand flew to his mouth to fight back the accompanying nausea at such a gruesome sight, but it made the decision he'd been pondering over since they sighted the beast.

"Round up, men!" he called suddenly, walking toward his own horse and leaping into the saddle. "You saw that body. It can only mean that knight spotted Prince Leaf's forces, and that means it won't be long before the rest of them arrive. If that happens, I'm certain Prince Leaf will die."

"Shouldn't we think about this?" Delmud asked nervously, warily eyeing the beast as it dove toward the trees again with a speed that belied it's massive size. "I mean, Thracia's knights are said to be some of the strongest, most vicious warriors out there! Are we any better off than Prince Leaf?"

"No," Celice said resolutely, adjusting himself while fingering the hilt of his hero sword. "But we have a small advantage. Lester, you and all knights who have a bow; the vanguard is your's. If that thing comes for you, shoot. The wings are a bigger target and probably more vulnerable than it's body, but take care to make sure it won't fall on you if you do take it down."

"What about us?" Delmud asked, gesturing to the knights not wielding bows.

"Stick with me, and if that thing comes for you, hack at it until it backs off," Celice said more comically than he intended. "If it grabs you, hold onto your weapon for dear life and start swinging at the legs. If you drop your weapon, I imagine you will die."

On that comforting note Celice spurred his horse into a gallop, straight into the stream. The sound of sloshing reached his ears as his horse's movements kicked water up behind him, cooling his legs in the process. Oddly, it felt quite relaxing.

"Archers, to the front!" he called again, more impatiently, as he noticed the reluctance displayed by those around him. "That beast is nothing to fear for an archer! With wings like that, arrows will bring it to the ground with ease!"

Celice slowed as he saw Lester pass him by, still with an arrow notched and just waiting to be fired. The matter was complicated when they entered the forest, but there was enough room between treetops for a truly skilled archer to fire. Celice himself was more worried about what they would find within the forest, because definitely Trabant would not be so generous as to attack alone. Freege soldiers would surely be attacking from the ground.

"Should we risk getting so close?" Lester asked carefully, eyeing the treetops above him warily. "I mean, if I get too close I won't be able to fire, and..."

"It doesn't matter how close we get, so long as you fire before it gets you," Celice called back caustically, with more bitterness than he really wanted to display. But the burden of racing for Prince Leaf's life was getting to him, and at this point his only concern was seeing to it that the Prince was still breathing when they got there. "Besides, it's us or them. You know which I'd prefer it be."

"You always were willing to take punches for your friends," Lester quipped in a completely roundabout show of amusement. He didn't rebuff Celice's order however, displaying instead a newfound focus on keeping an eye out for their aerial predator. Now that he had a moment to do so, Celice couldn't help wondering why none of Fee's warriors were in the sky. Had they been taken down? It was unlikely, but Celice worried that was the case nonetheless.

"That hardly matters at the moment," Celice bit out, directing with a slight tilt of his head toward the now billowing treetops, waving from side to side in the midst of a fierce wind. They continued to ride through the perpetual eye of the storm, and when the treetops finally parted to the side – how the trees didn't snap was a mystery to Celice – all of the archers opened fire on the wyvern as it dove toward them. Celice kept a tight grip on his sword, knowing that if the archers failed to play their part, he would need to come out swinging.

Whether or not his sword would be useful was a question that, evidently, wouldn't need answering. The wyvern cried out in what seemed to be it's shrill variation of an agonized scream, writhing and twisting in the air as arrows dug into it's wings and, although to far less effective results, into the hard scales of it's body. By the time it had recovered from the first wave of arrows it was hardly keeping itself afloat, and a second wave of arrows finished it off. It fell into a sharp descent toward the ground, aiming straight for them.

Celice blanched as he realized how dire their situation was. "Spread out! Don't worry about formation; just make sure you're not under it when it hits the ground!" he cried, digging his heels into the his horse's thighs and urging it into a faster gallop. His men parted all around him and took off in random directions, but the least of Celice's worries was whether or not they'd find their way back. That was a relatively moot worry when compared to the threat of being crushed by a massive wyvern.

Celice's swift escape from the immediate area was halted when he spotted a man riding toward him atop a silvery white horse, covered from head to toe in armor a mix or white and blue, his medium length and unruly blue hair flying every which way as wind whipped at his face. "Look out, my Lord," he softly ordered, coming to a stop next to Celice and eyeing the slowly descending beast carefully. A the last possible moment he threw a javelin that dug securely into the wyvern's left wing, forcing it to slightly fall to that side and crash into the ground safely in a clearing, away from anybody and without damaging the forest.

"You..." Celice worked his mouth several times before shaking his head, awestruck by the casually heroic display. "Who are you?"

"My apologies," the knight replied, suddenly leaping from his horse and lowering himself to one knee. "I am Fin, knight of Lenster. And you are Prince Celice, I am to assume?"

"You're Sir Fin?" Celice gasped. He too leaped from his horse, grasping Fin gently by the elbow and hoisting him to his feet. "Please do not bow. You have done so much for both my father, Prince Leaf's father and Prince Leaf himself. You, if anything, are deserving of my prostration."

"Of course not," Fin said dismissively. "I merely do my duty as His Highness' trusted knight. My sacrifices and my services to Lenster are my duty and my pleasure, my Lord. I do not expect recognition for doing what is expected of me."

Nodding, Celice let the matter drop; it was obvious that praise was not something Fin wanted. Instead, he glanced in the direction Fin had come from and asked, "Is Prince Leaf alright?"

"Thanks to Lady Fee – thank you for those reinforcements by the way, my Lord – we managed to rout a unit of Freege knights. Unfortunately His Highness was wounded in the melee, and is currently undergoing medical treatment from my daughter. Would you like me to escort you?"

Celice eagerly nodded, jumping at the chance to properly regroup with his cousin. "If it is no trouble, please. My forces are currently in battle with the Freege main force west of Alster, and I have come with the hopes of regrouping with you guys and retaking Lenster, whereupon we can begin a two-pronged assault on Alster. My men are scattered about at the moment, but..."

"Say no more," Fin quickly stated, climbing back into his saddle. "Proceed down this path until you come to a clearing; that is where we have set up camp. I shall take it upon myself to round up your men for you, my Lord."

Floored by the amount of respect Fin showed for a man he had never previously met, Celice stuttered hopelessly until Fin was about ready to take off. "That isn't necessary, Sir Fin. They are my responsibility."

"I insist," the knight replied casually, flipping some of his hair behind his ear with one hand while the other adjusted it's grip on the beautiful lance he had been wielding the entire time. It was slightly longer than the average lance, and the edge was accentuated by a cross-like shape that divided it from the shaft. The entire shaft was a blue-white mix that matched Fin's armor, making him look every bit the fantastic knight he was. Celice realized belatedly that the weapon in his hand was the hero lance he had been feared for since he was given it nearly two decades ago.

"Besides," Fin continued, turning his horse to proceed down the path in the direction opposite the way he had instructed Celice to take, "His Highness has been looking forward to meeting you since the moment we heard you'd entered the Yied Desert. Now that such a day is upon us, I want to see him smiling again. It has bee far too long since he has smiled; since he was a baby, in fact."

Leaving Celice to think about that statement, Fin dug his heels into his horse's thighs, urging it to move. Once he had disappeared into the distance, Celice mounted and took off in the other direction. He was careful to keep his eyes on everything around him, from the trees to the inhabitants of the forest to the roots crawling their way across that pathway. The path looked very well worn, with many signs of past use; namely, many spots where the ground had been dug up by hooves. Some were so bad that his own horse's hooves threatened to get stuck in them, but he avoided peril either by good fortune or his horse's quick wit – either way, it had nothing to do with his equestrian talents.

When he arrived at the clearing, the first and most obvious thing to catch Celice's attention was that it was empty. Save for the telltale signs of previous encampment, there were no signs that it was presently being used as a camp. This was both odd and unexpected; unexpected because Fin had stated they were here, and odd because they reasonably shouldn't have moved while Fin was gone. Which meant there was an unaccounted for factor that needed to be discovered.

The sounds of battle solved that for him, and Celice took off along the path again, seeking out the sounds. He could hear metal on metal, the peals and other sounds of men engaged in battle, and other such sounds that were distinctive of warfare. He kept an especially careful eye on his surroundings as he went, afraid that missing the smallest thing could make him miss exactly what he was looking for. When finally he spotted signs of the battle taking place, he first noticed the tucked in wings of a pegasus with it's female knight atop it, maneuvering it to avoid attacks while simultaneously stabbing at any foe that got within range of her. From what Celice could tell archers weren't a problem, but grounded pegasus suffered enough weaknesses without having to worry about the ranged banes of their existence.

He only noticed after watching the way the knight swung her lance about in a manner that was completely unlike the style he'd grown accustomed to seeing in their pegasus knights that it was Fee, sporting a helmet that covered most of her head, he was watching. She seemed to notice his approach at that very moment, giving an overly enthusiastic wave that almost made her fall from her mount. "Took you long enough!" she called playfully before turning and tugging on her pegasus' reins. In response her pegasus lifted a talon and swiped at a knight's face, knocking off his helmet and leaving him prone to a lance thrust from Fee.

As she felled another knight immediately afterward, Celice allowed a small smile to cross his face briefly, the most apparent sign of relief for Fee's safety that he dared show at that moment. The metallic clanks of a moving suit of armor brought his attention to his side, where a knight had been trying – rather pitifully – to get a surprise hit on him. He quickly put an end to that with a dangerously powerful swing, forsaking the safety of his arm as he smashed his blade down upon the knight's head, denting the helmet in such a way that even an indirect blow ensured death. The vibrant and painful shaking in his arm was a small price to pay for that.

As Celice lifted his eyes from the crumpling body of his foe, he realized that it may not have been in his best interest to use his most important battle yet to practice his horsemanship; this was mostly due to the fact that he was suddenly very aware of just how many foes were around he and Fee, and even though he could make out the bodies of other pegasi between the trees, tightly cramped while the women mounted atop them fought similarly desperate battles, there seemed to be far more than he was comfortable trying to fight from horseback. And it didn't help that he had yet to spot Prince Leaf or any of his warriors.

Celice leaped out of his saddle and down to the ground, leading his horse over to the comfort of a nearby tree before turning his back on him, watching those around him carefully. None of them yet had their eyes on him, either fighting or closing in one the pegasus knights around him, and that gave Celice a preemptive opportunity that he intended to make use of.

Grasping his hero sword firmly with both hands, Celice slowly and quietly edged toward an unsuspecting footman wielding an unusually large axe. He could tell already that the weapon, while powerful, would require a lot of force to swing, and the man wielding it lacked the raw amount of muscle to do so efficiently. This meant that even if he was spotted, Celice was confident he could avoid any sort of harm and dispatch his foe before that massive axe became an issue.

A sudden snap directed Celice's attention to his feet where, in spite of his best efforts, a now snapped twig lay beneath his left foot. Slowly lifting his eyes, he saw the his target slowly turning toward him. Spurring into action suddenly, Celice rammed his shoulder into the man's face, throwing him off guard long enough for Celice to follow up with a smooth swing that hit it's mark in the man's chest before swiftly lifting his blade and swinging downward on the still stunned man, killing him.

As the lifeless body crumpled and Celice pulled his sword back, he suddenly felt _it_. There was no explaining what _it_ truly was, but it felt so inherently familiar and yet so foreign that it was unnerving. The air grew suddenly thick, and taking in breaths of air grew significantly more difficult. The gathering rain clouds above suddenly seemed ominous and warning, not of rain but of some great power, something out of place and terrifying.

The clouds rumbled with thunder and Celice, momentarily forgetting about the battle all around him, couldn't help but be inclined to gaze up at them. True to their ominous intent they were gathering together, brimming with unspeakable and malevolent rage.

The first bolt of lightning fell, striking the ground some ten feet from him. He jumped back and uttered a cry of shock, turning several heads and making more and more people forget about the battle being fought. Then a second bolt struck, closer, followed by a third and a fourth. The fifth struck the ground not two feet away, and in it's wake a person appeared in the midst of the lingering thunderbolt, his back turned and bony hands running through his long, tangled red hair.

He was dressed from head to toe in black, a thick cloak with red and golden embroidery at the end and golden armored shoulder plates covering what the cloak did not. He had yet to so much as glance over his shoulder, but Celice didn't need to see his face to feel the rippling waves of malevolence and dread pouring from him. That fact alone gave Celice a very good idea of who he was, and coupled by his appearance that grew to a near certainty.

"Prince... Julius," Celice whispered almost inaudibly, in awe and more than a little bit frightened.

As the thunderbolt dissipated he turned slightly and looked over his shoulder, giving Celice an appraising glance before turning around fully and truly getting a good look at him. "The Prince of Light is this?" he stated more than asked, gesturing at Celice with a wave of his bony hand, parting his cloak and revealing the purple, tight fitting noble-esque clothes beneath. "And yet you killed Ishtor."

Taking in the form of his half-brother, Celice couldn't resist the shiver that passed through him. Julius' very existence appeared to radiate malevolence and evil, with an amused smirk on his face, and a sort of derisive sneer etched into his features that didn't seem to have anything to do with his mood. His long, bony fingers seemed all the more bony without the cloak to obscure them, stiffening and curling at will. Perhaps most frightening of all was his face itself where, in the center of his forehead, rested a cross-shaped scar dyed the red of blood. His eyes, a piercing red just as unnerving, seemed to be reading him for every secret he had to his name.

Not that he had all that many. But it was still unnerving and frightening.

Keeping a tight grip on his sword and his eyes on Julius at all times, Celice called over his shoulder, "Fee, are we done here?" Unfortunately his voice cracked, and while Fee wasn't likely to notice Julius certainly did. His smirk grew – how unnerving.

There was a somewhat feminine grunt and the sound of metal piercing metal and flesh, but Fee grunted out, "Yeah, that was the lot of 'em."

"Take your troops and go," he grunted out in turn, stepping sideways and eying Julius carefully, looking for the slightest sign of movement. "Go find Prince Leaf, make sure he is safe."

"But...?" she drawled, with obvious reluctance. She wouldn't be so eager to stick around if she realized who their company was, he mused with sardonic bemusement.

"Go," he urged more certainly. "I'll be fine."

There was silence for a few seconds and Celice briefly feared Fee would not listen to him, but then there was a collective sound of wings tearing through the wind around them as they began taking off. Breathing a silent sigh of relief he returned the whole of his attention to Julius, who's smirk had, if it were possible, grown even wider. "You seem so sure you will leave here alive."

"I know your sort," Celice replied noncommittally, drawing out the frown he knew it would from his very arrogant half-brother. "If you were here to see me dead, you'd see me humiliated and be done with it. Flashy dramatics are for your father."

"Too true," Julius sighed mock-wistfully. "The bag of bones doesn't realize he's outlived his purpose."

"So it is you behind the child hunts," Celice breathed, gripping his sword all the tighter.

"And you expected less." Julius let out a raspy, barking sort of laugh befitting of his demonic demeanor. "I am not here to see you dead, as you so eloquently explained. I am merely seeing what sort of man my supposed half-brother is. The very thought that people believe that you may be Deirdre's son is depressing."

"And?" Celice prompted, ignoring the jibe at his unconfirmed parentage. It was, after all, no secret that the legitimacy of his parentage was something widely disputed.

"You reek of light," Julius sighed, making a show of pinching his nose and working his face into a look of disgust. "Justice, fairness and all that – you reek of your stubborn belief in such things. Sigurd the Traitor was no better, I suspect, running to and fro for his... friends. You shall learn someday, I am sure, but will it be before or after you die?"

With barely a wave of his hand, a thick haze began to billow around them, like visible fumes rising from a putrid swamp. The substance invaded his nostrils and immediately his body locked up, feeling as though something were trying to tear it apart from the inside out. Barely managing a garbled cry amidst the growing pain, Celice dropped to one knee and clutched at his chest with his free hand, trying to blink back into focus.

"Yotsmungand magic," Julius said conversationally, striding over to Celice's collapsed form and kicking a bit of dirt into his face. "Painful isn't it? Not very threatening as far as dark magic is concerned, but plenty dangerous all the same. Can you feel it tearing at you? That's the poison – not lethal, but it lingers."

Celice released the pent up cough lodged in the back of his throat, spewing a bit of blood in the process. As he tried to rise to his feet he met pressure in the form of Julius' foot being pressed into his back, and he gave up after a moment of resistance.

"You won't die from the poison, as I said," Julius continued, giving his foot an extra push. Celice grimaced as he was pressed into the ground, his leg giving out on him and forcing his face into the dirt. "The poison will sap you of your strength before long, but it will go away after a time. Be thankful for small miracles."

"What do you want?" Celice managed in an unfortunately nonthreatening growl.

"I told you, to see what sort of man the Prince of Light is," Julius chided. His voice was cold, and while he was not overly threatening at that moment, his voice spoke volumes of exactly how threatening he could be. Idly, Celice couldn't help wondering if his father felt something similar in Alvis' presence. "Unfortunately for you, your resistance is doomed if you're the best there is. Sort of insulting to consider you my opposite."

"There's more," Celice replied stiffly. With aching limbs he grabbed the grass tightly between his fingers, finding support while he tried to push against Julius' foot. The effort pulled through, knocking the foot aside and giving him the preemptive edge needed to spring to his feet, staggering slightly from the exhaustion trying to overwhelm his senses, and bring his sword to point at Julius' throat. "If you'd cared, in all your arrogance, you would have approached me before. You knew where I was."

"Yes, yes," Julius sighed, glancing at his leg briefly before fixing Celice with a piercing glare. "I've lost... something... and would benefit greatly from knowing where... it, was. You understand? Surely you know."

"I have no idea what you mean," Celice groused, genuinely confused. "Lost what, pray tell?"

"Something," Julius repeated, sneering. "Some... one, to be specific. Tell me where she is, and you may live."

"I thought you said you weren't here for my life," Celice countered jauntily. The reality was, now that he'd been moderately informed, he had suspicions of who it was Julius sought. And that required stalling, no matter what.

"I'm not," Julius countered, his sneer becoming more suggestively threatening in turn. "But using life as a bartering tool has... desirable results, most of the time, you see."

Celice idly nodded, taking the unspoken truce between them for what it was worth and wisely not pursuing the disgusting idea of bartering information for life. It was better than tempting Julius into a physical response again, and he was wise enough to tell when he was outmatched. "And what makes you think coming to me will help?"

"You," Julius scoffed indignantly, with no small amount of disgust. He brought his hand up and thrust it to the side, making a show of letting dark energy form together into a black ball swirling with red in his hand. With an exaggerated flick of the wrist he released it, sending the gathered energy surging toward Celice, passing just inches from his left ear. "You are like your father. You draw allies from the most... unusual of places, especially when you are not looking for them. It would not surprise me to find that the one I search for has reached you, in some manner or another, you see?"

"Valid point," Celice conceded, knowing quite well the futility in disputing that argument, even if the better part of his army were the progeny of the obscure allies his father had gathered. "Be that as it may, I have not come across any girl that would be of any interest to you. None seeking to gather and slaughter children in crude rituals, at any rate; or be sacrificed, either."

Julius snarled loudly and lunged, knocking Cecile to the ground before Celice could get his weakened limbs to respond, knocking his sword from his weak grip and sending it to the ground several feet away. Julius' face warped into a feral smirk just as suddenly while he wrapped four of his bony fingers around Celice's neck, giving several tight squeezes before settling on a moderately painful squeeze, leaving enough air for him to speak.

"Do not pretend to understand me, Celice," he spat, glaring with unrestrained hate at his captive Prince. "Now stop stalling. Tell me where Julia is! I know that she is with you!"

"I don't know who you're talking about," Celice rasped pitifully, sounding sadly unconvincing even to himself. "And even if I did, I would sooner die than turn a good person over to you for your maddening sacrifices."

The hatred blazing in Julius' eyes gave way to a small flicker of dark amusement, and he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth to beat down the urge to give the extra force necessary to truly kill his opposite. "Is... that... so?" he breathed in a tone so neutral that it made Celice shiver unconsciously. "I do not wish to sacrifice her, I assure you... No, she is far too pure to be sacrificed. She needs to be killed."

While fighting to keep any emotion from showing, Celice's mind was working overtime to figure out what possible relation there could be between Julius and Julia. When Levin had found her she'd already had amnesia, so theoretically she could have been from anywhere. But Celice prided himself on not being a blind fool; the fact that their names were so similar did not escape his notice. And even if her name was a relatively common one, the odds of her being sought so fervently by Julius dashed all hopes of it being coincidence.

"Just who is she to you?" Celice questioned softly, before he could stop himself.

At first Julius raised an eyebrow as if to actually contemplate the question, but then a slow smile formed until dimples were visible where his lips ended on his cheeks. "Done denying, are we? That makes this so much easier, after all. And..." he paused long enough to give Celice's throat a squeeze, returning his senses to the bony fingers wrapped snugly around his throat, "so much less life threatening."

"I believe I..." His voice trailed off into a fierce cough, and the rise and fall of his chest only made breathing even harder. "I told you that I would sooner die than turn somebody over to you. You will not have Julia, no matter how important she is to you."

Julius laughed harshly, glaring balefully down at Celice all the while. "You are willing to sacrifice this pitiful world's sole hope, small as it is, for her? How very heroic of you." He laughed again, this time with even more force, and as it died into a monotone chuckle he shook his head lightly. "But very foolish. Did Oifaye not tell you of the needs of the many against the needs of the one, or whatever nonsense it is you fools preach? Surely you recognize that giving her to me is worth keeping your life, and thus Jugdral's sole hope."

Complete and unmistakable disgust filled Celice as he stared up at his half-brother, the demon incarnate born of the same mother as he himself. Never had he been so repulsed by the thought of sharing the blood flowing through the veins of Prince Julius; it felt as though his very lifeblood had been tainted beyond all recognition, and the only purity rested in the blood of the Crusader Baldo. The thought of his mother being the mother of all the evil spreading across Jugdral made bile rise in his throat unbidden.

But despite the sheer, overwhelming disgust Celice kept his face devoid of any sign of disturbance. Even though Julius' unstated threat was enough to make him want to reach for his sword and drive it through his brother, no matter how ineffective it would be, Julius was also completely right. Dying would mean the end of the Liberation Army's campaign; he had said it perfectly when he had told Oifaye that only they could properly lead the army, and of the two of them only he had the natural charisma that was keeping them from falling apart like Leaf's own army had. His death would mean crushing the hopes of all those that had cast their lot with him, would mean denying the people their final shot at salvation from the despotic empire ruling over them.

Morosely, he admitted that not even losing Julia could measure up to that sort of sacrifice.

"Well?" Julius pressed, with a smile that wasn't reflected in his hateful eyes. "Will you tell me, or will you sacrifice Jugdral? Reasonably, it's an easy decision to make, though I won't lose any sleep by killing you, or dooming this land for that matter."

"You..." Celice whimpered with as much force as he could muster with his lungs slowly being drained. "Is Julia so important to you?"

"Tut tut," Julius mocked, giving Celice's throat two strong squeezes in time with his words, forcing two loud gasps from the depths of Celice's throat. "You are in no position to demand answers from me. But I suppose I could answer you, as a show of... good faith. She..."

Celice raised an eyebrow as Julius trailed off, but it took him several seconds to realize that his brother's eyes were no longer on him. Rather, a hideous scowl marred his face, and his eyes were staring directly ahead. The sight was so frighteningly revolted that it took all the willpower Celice could manage to not shiver.

"So you are alive," he growled, slowly removing his hands and standing up. Celice's forceful coughs as air invaded his lungs went ignored. "I thought you might be, but to see it true... Trusting Manfloy to do a job well is a bit beyond what I can hope, I suppose. Isn't that right, Levin?"

Celice started, glancing back until he saw only his brow in an attempt to see Levin. He managed to see the very tips of his tactician's pointed boots as Levin strode forward, with a silk, pale green cloak waving around his ankles. "Prince Julius," Levin greeted with casual indifference. "It is unlike you to take such a proactive stance, isn't it?"

Julius nodded stiffly, surprising Celice with the slight tremor in his brother's movements. "This matter... demands... my direct interference, you could say. Unfortunately, Celice," he punctuated Celice's name with a strong kick to his ribcage, knocking the wind out of him again, "is being very uncooperative. But perhaps I should have sought you out to begin with, so I will ask again: Where is Julia?"

"Julia?" Levin questioned, sounding genuinely surprised. "So she really is your... No matter. If that is true, it is doubly important that I keep her safe," he whispered to himself, though pointedly audible both to Celice and Julius. "You will not have her, Julius."

"Celice said the same thing. He, I can blame on simple foolishness." Julius waved his hand airily, and when it came back down he rested it on his hip. "You, however... Do not overstep your bounds as a descendant of Holsety, Levin. You are no match for the Dark God."

"Be that as it may, you do not yet have his power, do you?" Levin took a few steps forward so that he was standing beside Celice's prone form, and removed his right arm from the sleeve of his cloak, holding a tome lightly between his fingers. "As you are, you are unable to truly grasp Loputousu's power, and without it you are no match for me."

Julius gritted his teeth so forcefully that they ground against one another, and with an enraged cry threw his arm into the air and cried, "Yotsmungand!" Again the putrid haze settled around them, and Celice immediately forced himself not to breathe despite the lack of air in his lungs. The haze settled around him and assaulted his nose with such force that it was an effort to not breathe, and his resistance was waning quickly.

Levin, on the other hand, merely whispered a few words under his breath. When the incantation was completed he waved his arm around him and said, "Tornado." Immediately after a fierce wind surrounded them, forcing the haze into a steadily growing cylinder of wind that advanced on Julius with a speed that belied it's unnatural size. As it went it continued to gather the haze from Julius' own magic as well as other debris, and when it collided with Julius he was hit with such force that he uttered a cry that wrenched at Celice's gut as he was tossed back several feet.

Julius staggered back to his feet, a nearly inaudible string of chants already flowing effortlessly from his lips. Even without the guidance of a tome he recited whatever it was he was muttering perfectly, although beneath his cloak he still held a dark tome of some kind to channel the magic. Without any dramatics, Julius gestured at Levin and shouted, "Hel!"

The familiar skull Celice had seen when he'd confronted the Lopt priest in the Blagi church near Ganeishire soared toward Levin, who dodged it as simply as one half his age could have. He responded immediately with a swiftly formed blade of wind that cut at Julius, who dodged with more effort than it had taken Levin. All the while Celice's eyes moved back and forth between the two, memorizing quite possibly the most amazing show of skill he'd yet seen in his life, magic or otherwise.

Squaring his shoulders, Julius growled under his breath while casting a scathing look at Celice as he tried to sit upright. "Age has not dulled your strength, it seems... You are far too like Manfloy, Levin." He bared his teeth and hissed slightly, before flipping his cape and turning away. "Very well, we shall settle the matter of Julia another day. I have no illusions that she is a problem yet, so you may keep her for the time being."

Julius glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting with such feral ferocity that Celice halted all efforts to get his body to obey. "Do not expect this to happen a second time. When next we meet, I will not be caught of guard, Levin. And the Traitor's son there will never be a match for me, not as he is now." Without any preamble a golden seal began to form beneath him, accented by twelve symbols and a pitch black circle beneath his feet. As soon as it formed entirely it rose around and enveloped him, he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared.

"What are you doing here?" Celice asked in a labored pant, looking up at Levin through lidded, tired eyes. Despite his efforts to sit up, his muscles gave out on him and he fell back, colliding loudly with the earth. "I... He was so strong, I couldn't do anything..."

"Be glad you escaped with your life," Levin said in a clipped tone. Celice noticed that he outright ignored the first question, but Levin had never been one privy to telling everything, no matter the circumstance. There was always some secret, some inconsistency that Levin always kept to himself. Probably to ensure he stayed a step ahead of everyone else, allies included.

"Yeah, but..." Celice sighed, resigning himself to folding his aching arms under his head and gazing up at the still clouded sky. "The moment he appeared, I felt such dread. Like in that moment, my body knew it wasn't likely I'd live. Is Julius truly so strong?"

"He is," Levin stiffly answered, sitting down next to Celice. "As he is now, he is nearly my equal. If he were to become strong enough to truly use Loputousu's power... If that becomes the case, defeating him may very well be impossible. Of all the Crusader's, even I would be helpless against Loputousu. Only Narga has the power to defeat him, and Saint Heim's lineage died with Prince Kurth and Queen Deirdre.

"What is important now is continuing as we have been. Dwelling on what awaits us in Grandbell will only make our journey there more difficult – as we are, our only hope is to gather even more strength as we progress." Levin ran a hand through his hair and sighed, looking down at Celice so seriously that he shivered in a manner not unlike when Julius looked at him. "We need to gather as many of the Crusaders as we can. Getting them all is impossible, and a large number of them are in Grandbell, but we must do what we can. Already we have Prince Shanan and Aless, and they will help tremendously, but it is not enough."

"I need to get the Tyrfing back, as well," Celice added dispassionately. "The Emperor recovered it when he killed my father, right? Then when we reach him, I can get it back. But will that be too late?"

"There is no telling," Levin replied cryptically. He reached a hand down to Celice and hauled him into an upright position without any preamble, outright ignoring Celice's cry of surprise and pitious groan. "As I said, we continue as we are. What strength we gain along the way shall be taken as a boon, and that which we do not get is simply power lost. It is useless to dwell on that."

Celice took that to be what it was: a definitive statement that meant any further questioning would be responded to with little more than sharp glares and reprimanding words. Changing the subject, he asked, "Why does Julius want Julia? Are light mages truly that fearsome to the Lopt Sect, that he would so zealously hunt her?" Truly Celice prayed that was the case, because that was the mildest scenario he could think of. Any other were scenarios he prayed weren't true.

"You already have a feeling what the answer is," Levin replied in a sharp, distinct tone. "But that is not a discussion for today. I am relatively sure I have discovered the answer to that, but now is not the time to plague our thoughts with such things." He stood and stretched out his legs, making both of his knees pop loudly. "Aless and Shannan have forced Blume from Alster and will have the capital under control before long, and one of Fee's messengers told me Leaf is heading another assault on Lenster. We need to go help."

Celice stood as well, working his jaw as he tried to come up with a suitable reply. "Y-you mean... you will fight with us, Levin?"

"No," Levin said sharply, though a hint of a smile betrayed his miniscule amusement. "And tired as you are, neither shall you. But your knights have regrouped with Fee, and they have joined the fray. They need their commander."

Levin tilted his head before turning and walking away, leaving Celice alone in the clearing. Above the only clouds for miles around continued to billow, serving as a reminder to the shell shocking meeting that had taken place there. Celice could still feel his limbs trembling from the sheer terror Julius commanded, and it was only through a lot of willpower that he kept his legs from giving out on him. Staring up at those billowing reminders, Celice knew this would not be the last time they met, and that terrified him more than anything ever had.

Celice smiled faintly as he saw the champion of all of Lenster's toils, the man who had fought amidst and been directly responsible for the Manster District's entire uprising, his cousin Prince Leaf. Despite being a year his junior, Leaf fit the role of a leader spectacularly. He commanded respect from his peers, few as they were, and had a determination that Celice realized he himself had lacked until recently. It was unfortunate that such admirable traits had been forged through hardship and sacrifice, but all of Leaf's toils had turned him into a man worthy of Prince Cuan's name.

Grouped around Leaf were four people, only two of whom Celice recognized. There was Fin and there was Fee, both of whom were still fully dressed for battle and holding their lances. Aside from them there was a young girl no older than Leaf himself who, thanks to Levin, Celice knew to be Nanna, the daughter of the late Princess Lachesis. The other was a complete mystery to Celice. A man several years senior to even Levin, with graying hair and a threatless sneer, stood just behind Leaf. He held himself with the same indifferent strength that Levin did, and despite appearances Celice could make out several similarities between the two.

"That is August, Leaf's tactician," Levin explained from beside him, pointing ahead. "He joined Leaf last year, and has been indirectly responsible for several of their victories, both as an army and as a band of rogues."

"So he's like you," Celice chuckled without mirth, giving Levin a surreptitious glance. "A martyr disguised as a puppeteer, guiding Jugdral's future generation from behind the scenes. And completely incorrigible at times, but otherwise invaluable."

"That would be insulting were you not correct," Levin grudgingly stated. "Unlike me, he nears the end of his life. This liberation effort is his chance to make something of himself before his time runs out, and he is a valuable man to have advising you. It is in your better interest to reach out for his advice. He is a wealth of knowledge beyond what even I have, and although he is not a great strategist he is very helpful otherwise."

"Just who is he?" Celice asked , glancing up at Levin's face before back over at August, who now had a boney arm wrapped around Leaf's shoulder, tugging him down to speak into his ear.. "Not just anybody gets your respect, Levin," Celice added mirthfully, finding amusement in Leaf's discomfort.

"Hmm," Levin hummed irritably, though he made no move to deny Celice's claim. "August was an adviser to King Lenster during Cuan's time with your father. They had a falling out when August disagreed with King Lenster's passive response to the growing hostilities with Thracia and August left Lenster, and he has been wandering ever since." Levin heaved a world-weary sigh, shaking his head and looking to Celice like the aging man he truly was. "He has faced some great evils in his time. While wandering the mountains of Thracia he befriended an entire village, but during a raid on the border by Grandbell, the people he had come to know as friends were all massacred. He and I met not long after during one of my trips to the peninsula, and he agreed to follow the happenings of the peninsula as a spy for me."

"And that is how he came to be with Prince Leaf; to observe him for you," Celice concluded.

Levin nodded. "I knew how important you would come to be. As the son of Sigurd, you can rally people to you in a way Prince Leaf could never hope to. That being so, I left August to watch over Leaf so that I could be by your side when the time came."

"I don't know what worries me more," Celice quipped, taking a few steps away from Levin and glancing at him over his shoulder. "The fact that I'll never be able to fully trust you, or the fact that that in itself doesn't worry me."

"What do you mean?" Levin asked, genuinely confounded – that pleased Celice to no end.

"You do everything with our benefit in mind; that I know." Celice turned fully, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head in contemplation. "But at the same time, you help us through methods that leave me wondering what your real agenda is. Are you truly doing everything just for us? Is there something you want when all is said and done? These questions are constantly at the forefront of my mind."

"And what is the conclusion that you have come to?" Levin asked, masking his surprise at Celice's perceptiveness well.

"That all is not as it seems with you," Celice said after a moment of thought. "There is something different about you, that makes you stand out from everybody else. There are times when I wonder if you're entirely human, with the way you seem so detached from everything. As though everything you do were out of some obligation and not because you genuinely desire it."

Levin stood there, wide-eyed and shocked to the core before chuckling ruefully and moving to walk past Celice. "That perceptiveness will prove invaluable in time, Celice. Do not waste it trying to figure me out."

Celice remained absolutely stone-faced, watching Levin as he walked by warily. "I have claimed to distrust you twice and you haven't responded, Levin. I won't pursue the truth of who – or what – you are, but you have done little to disprove those claims."

"So long as I continue to provide advice and aid you there's no problem, right?"

"Yes..." Celice sighed, relenting. As soon as Levin was out of earshot Celice smiled sadly, whispering, "You're right, Holsety."

Okay, given my general inability to write of late, this probably wasn't the most important thing to put time into. But as it stood I was only really able to work on things around small whims, so here we are. As has been said in my profile I'm going to begin compiling what I lost when my laptop broke down and will hopefully pick things up soon – this is not the case with _Timeless_, but I've been unable to write for that lately. Again, hopefully this will change.

On a relatively unimportant note my time is also being put to the many other ideas that have been swarming my head of late, namely a Kingdom Hearts fic that I am on the verge of writing a first draft of. I probably shouldn't be putting more on my plate at the moment, but most of my other work is on relative hiatus anyway. Ah well.


End file.
